Wild Is The Wind
by Zahnmai
Summary: Rachel and the Captain meet by chance one evening when her defenses are low and her emotions are running high. What happens changes their relationship forever, but will their blossoming love story survive the darkness to come?
1. Love me, Love me, Love me, Say you do

Love me, love me, love me, say you do  
Let me fly away with you  
For my love is like the wind, and wild is the wind  
\- David Bowie

It wasn't that Doctor Rachel Scott found him unpleasant to be around. Quite the contrary, she found that their times together had become so much more than simply pleasant. In fact, in recent months, her times with him filled her with unspoken joy and feelings of deep connection. In other words, it was a nice way of saying that she was falling in love with her protector and pain in the ass, rules-driven Captain Thomas Chandler of the Nathan James.

And so, she was currently taking the most logical course available. It wasn't all that scientific, but it was the best way she knew to keep her burgeoning feelings to herself. She was avoiding him. While on the surface that might seem illogical, it most assuredly wasn't in her opinion.

When she was around him, all she could think about was kissing him. And, not one of those chaste, friendly yet distant kisses between friends, but one of the ones that were filled with emotion, a passionate, stick your tongue down his throat and tickle his tonsils kisses that left both parties breathless and ready for more. She couldn't afford to act on her thoughts and feelings, she knew, but was also getting harder and harder for her to hide.

Thoughts crept in to her orderly, disciplined mind, disrupting her scientist-bearing. She was supposed to be working to save humanity; a model of productivity and peak performance. Yet, here she sat crushing on - as Beatrice, her teenage helper called it - crushing on a man who had moved heaven and earth to keep her safe and happy as she worked to find the cure. He had never once done anything to let her think he was anything but a friend, yet still her heart went to her happy place whenever he showed up. And in that place, she found him waiting: tall, muscular and beautiful. In that place, she was free to love him and wonder if there ever would be something more.

She sighed pushing wayward brown strands of her hair off her face and back over her ear. She was tired, almost punchy in some respects. From that exhaustion came another fantasy, and while it made her smile and her mind relax a bit, it was counter productive. Recently, he seemed to be moving closer to her, at least she hoped her mind hadn't just finally crapped out completely. If she was misreading his signals, then she was surely damned to a life of fantasy with no realistic hope of it ever being realized.

Her computer bleeped interrupting her thoughts, needing attention. She needed attention – his attention. _Stop that!_ She closed the lid of her laptop, mentally willing herself to close the lid on her fantasies. It didn't work; the computer went to sleep but not her imagination.

 _You know, you're not falling in love with him,_ the wilder side of her mind put for the hundredth time, y _ou have already gone head over heels, girl._

 _He's in mourning!_ Her logical half argued in return. _I can't fall in love with him._

 _Why not? There's no harm in loving from afar._ Sometimes her mind could be a royal pain, and she had to admit that she had a hard time stamping down on her feelings at times. However, as long as they weren't trapped together in an elevator, she felt fairly certain her feelings wouldn't trip her up. Although, she doubted that she could hold them back tonight, because her feelings were very close to the surface and jangling about in her mind like too many ghosts with loud, annoying chains moaning in the attic.

"How on earth did you fall for a Navy man," she muttered to her empty lab. "Is it loneliness or providence?" She shook her head slightly to clear her thoughts.

"It's complete bollux and not scientific at all, Rachel," she admonished herself. _Well, love doesn't make sense all the time._ That was her mother talking to her.

Rachel had asked her once why she loved Daddy. They seemed so ill suited to each other, and by the ripe old age of nine, she could already discern their differences. Her mom's answer had seemed inadequate to the bright, inquisitive and rebellious Rachel, but she took the answer and didn't pursue it, primarily because she didn't understand what her mother meant. Her mother had gotten sick shortly thereafter, and it never came up again. And now, years later, Rachel finally got that answer, and her mother had been right. Boy, had she been right.

She took off her lab coat hanging it deliberately on its hook, gathering her books, some loose notes to go through and her notebook. She had sketched a ship on one of the pages of her notebook; sketching helped her ruminate when she hit a wall in her quest to find the cure to the Red Flu.

The likeness of the Captain of Nathan James that she had drawn was a fair representation in her opinion. She liked to sketch, but that didn't mean she was that good at it. In her opinion, science was the only thing she exceled at; everything else was fair to middling at best. Her father once shared with her that God gives people one gift, sometimes two, and that she should be grateful for her scientific mind.

 _Sometimes I still hate you, Dad. For what you did to Mom, and for how you made me feel._ She sighed opening the door to her lab and stepped through it right into the arms of Captain Thomas Chandler. Her notebook fell to the deck, her loose notes scattering, drifting downward like leaves falling from a tree in fall. She automatically leaned forward attempting to retrieve them as Captain Chandler did the same. They narrowly missed butting heads and both stood up backing up from each other smiling.

"I'm sorry, Captain," she started, smiling "I didn't see you standing there." _Well, that was a ridiculous statement._ The man was a head taller than she was, a chiseled, well-built specimen of male pulchritude, all lean muscle and sexy beyond compare. How had she missed him? Temporary blindness?

 _He's in mourning!_ And here again was that blasted conundrum _._ In one way, she didn't want to even indicate that she had feelings for him, because he was at first married and now in mourning. But over the course of the past year, she had come to have both feelings and fantasies that she was jumping up and down on to get them back into a carefully constructed, mental box.

"I came to see about you, " he said helping her gather her loose pages of notes. "I haven't seen you in some time. I wanted to see if everything was okay? And, you can call me Tom." His ice-blue gaze pinned her to the spot.

It had been about two days since she'd last come out of her lab at a reasonable hour or interacted with anybody. She had a perfect excuse; work on cure dissemination was taking up all of her time. But that was a lie. She could have been a sociable human being and come up for air at various intervals.

Instead, she had barricaded herself in her lab and worked non-stop, coming out only when she was pretty sure most of the ship, including the Captain, was sound asleep. They were all Navy types, up before the crack of dawn and retiring early. Her natural predilection towards being a night owl stood her in good stead when it came to avoidance.

 _You knew he would come looking for you_ , her mind chided. _You had to have known he'd come._

 _I was trying to avoid him, plain and simple. And if I was still in the lab, I could have blown him off with having a lot of work to do._

Is there something wrong?" he was asking bringing her back to the present. "Something I can help you with?"

 _Something wrong? Should I tell you that my feelings for you are driving me nuts? Should I tell you that the depth of what I feel scares me shitless? Should I tell you that the last thing I want to be is your friend? Should I – oh hell._ "No, there's nothing wrong. I just have a lot of work right now."

"Are you sure?" He smiled when he spoke.

 _Such a beautiful smile . . . and beautiful in other areas. Stop! Get a grip, Rachel._ "Yes, I'm sure." _I'm not sure of anything, Chandler. Except answer one small question. Do you love me? Do you like me?_ _Do you even know I exist beyond being Doctor Rachel Scott, creator of the cure and savior of humanity?_ In spite of herself, one of her favorite David Bowie songs played in her head, just one line of course, but it kept happening anytime she saw him. _Love me, love me, love me, say you do . . ._

"You have been AWOL in terms of eating and sleeping, I suspect lately. Thought I'd check in to see if you were okay?" There was that damned smile again.

 _Do you know what you do to me? What I'd like to do to you?_ "I've been pretty busy," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

"You need to take breaks, Rachel. We can't save the world if you drop from exhaustion." She noted that he had dropped the formality, which was something he tended to do when they were alone. _We are friends, after all. The fact that my mind is already taking things to the next level doesn't change the fact that he likes me as a person._

"Yes, I know, Captain" she stated, looking away from him and down the corridor. _Better to look away than continue to stare into those gorgeous eyes of yours. Too many things come to mind when I look at you too long, Chandler._ "I'll get some more rest." She continued to stare away from him. _Like, I love you and lust after your body._

"Please, call me Tom, and hey," he leaned down and around into the space where she was looking, forcing her to look at him. "I care about you . . ." _Too close, Chandler!_ "You need to take some breaks," he continued, lowering his voice and moving in closer violating her personal space more. She felt the heat of him; she wanted to kiss him so badly that the thought took on a physical manifestation – pain, want, longing. It was about two in the morning; no one was around to see. And he was so close.

She stared at him, wondering if he felt the same way, if all these feeling of heat, lust and love were in his heart, too. Or, was she simply delusional? They say love makes you crazy, and standing this close to him drove that truth home to her.

"I care about you," he said again. "We have been through so much together. We need to take care of each other, make sure we're eating, sleeping and all the other things that makes us human."

 _The only way to the other side of the corridor is through you._ "Are you trying to drive me insane, Tom?" Rachel realized too late that her thought had been verbalized. _Well, he was in her personal space, so things just got personal._

"What?" he gave her a half smile, confused look, but didn't move. After a pause, he added: "I don't understand."

 _You can't be this dim, Chandler._ Rachel leaned in, grabbing his shirt tugging him towards her. _Stop, stop_. She locked her lips to his all the while hoping this wasn't the worst mistake of her life. _If he doesn't reciprocate, I'm never leaving my lab again. If he does reciprocate, I'm never leaving my lab again._

The kiss lasted longer than she thought it would, as he drew her towards him lifting her up on until she was on her tiptoes. There was passion and longing, she felt it coursing between them, but then he withdrew, and she saw the red blush of his cheeks, the confusion in his eyes. He gently placed her back on the deck, running his hand through his blond-grey hair, stepping back.

"I'm sorry," she began. "I mean –" _I love you. Ah, shit, I just messed up everything._

"No, it's okay." He cut her off with a wave of his hand, "Uh, don't be a stranger in the ward room. I want you to eat well. And get enough rest." He turned on his heel to leave.

"Of course," she replied, turning back towards the lab she had just left. She had no intentions of going to the wardroom or anywhere else he was. _You realize, you just totally embarrassed yourself with him._

He stopped, his back to her. "Rachel, wait. I hadn't planned on talking to you so soon, but in light of what - "

At that moment, that was the last thing she wanted to hear. When they say they need to talk, they want to let you down easy, figure a gentlemanly way of saying you screwed up. Escaping that level of rejection seemed a better plan at this moment, so she reopened the door to the lab, stepping through and closing it behind her quickly.

She knew backing into her lab was a ridiculous move, but her only other option was to run away. She couldn't see herself running away from him down the corridor. He might follow her, and then where would they be. The only thing worst than making a complete fool out of yourself with someone was to run off forcing them to follow. If they passed anyone, which was more than likely on a ship this size, it would fuel gossip for weeks.

She would just stay in her lab forever; it was familiar and safe. In spite of her best efforts, her mind raced. She leaned back on the door. _What have I done? I just let my damned feelings ruin my relationship with a man I'm dependent upon to save humanity. I never let my guard down. What just happened? And, how can I fix it._ At the very least, he knows that I want more from him. _But, what if he just figured out that I love him? And what if he doesn't love me. Oh damn, this is why I don't do relationships on the deep_.

She turned her laptop back on. She would just work until she dropped. _What is wrong with you?_ She sat in front of the computer screen staring at the startup screen. Her self-condemnation was interrupted by a soft knock on the door, followed by a muffled, "Rachel?"

Chandler hadn't left like she thought. _What is wrong with me? I can take on terrorists and deadly pathogens. I fought the entire United States bureaucracy to get stationed on this ship to do this research. Men have always been a necessary evil from time to time, but my feelings have always ran shallow until now. And, now I've put my foot into it with a man whom I should have no feelings for at all._ She heard the knock again, but didn't respond _._

"But I do have feelings for you. So many and so deep." She whispered to an empty lab. _She thought the universe must be having a fine laugh at her expense._

 _If I open that door, there's no going back. Ruination or reward, all things would change now. If you hadn't violated my personal space, none of this would have happened, Chandler_.

So now it's his fault? "No, it was just bad timing, exhaustion and loneliness," she mumbled to herself. She could explain it away that way to him. He was probably thinking the same thing. We're both adults. We can just have a cup of tea and push the boundaries back into place.

 _Who am I kidding._

The knocking stopped, and she let out a soft sigh of relief. Things would not change tonight; as long as he stayed on the other side of that door, she could pretend that she hadn't just put her foot in it. She stared at the petri dishes lined up on the lab desk, looked back at the analysis starting up on her computer then at the rats in their cages. Rubbing her eyes, she started another simulation. Science was safe, predictable even when things weren't going your way. Scientific analysis ran from start to finish and not jumping to the middle then backtracking and moving forward much the way her feelings ran.


	2. Chapter 2 - With your kiss my life begin

_With your kiss my life begins again._

Captain Thomas Chandler sat on the edge of his bed trying to collect his thoughts. He had walked back to his quarters in a daze not sure how to process what had just happened. He felt guilty about it, but at the same time, he wanted to go back and kiss Rachel again. He had been fighting the urge for quite some time, and the fact that she had crossed that line left him wanting more. He felt guilt about his wife who had recently died, but he was clear in his mind that Rachel wasn't a rebound woman or pathetic replacement.

Rachel and Darien couldn't be more different. And he loved both women in their own right. It was something he had, until recently, not even admitted to himself. It was funny how words worked. He had always used the words attraction, chemistry and bond when it came to thinking about Rachel Scott. He used the word love when he thought about Darien. That delineation had kept everything in check, orderly and organized. But now Darien was dead, and here he was, still dealing with the pain of her passing and the fact that he could now openly admit to himself that he did indeed love Rachel.

He still grappled with a certain amount of remorse that he had been attracted to Rachel before Darien died. It wasn't that he didn't love his wife; he loved her and would always miss her. While Darien was alive, he was totally committed to her, and he would never even have thought of acting on his feelings for Rachel. He did realize, however, that his deepening feelings for her made their friendship all the more meaningful to him. And, Rachel had been a very good friend.

The guilt at the way Darien had died still pained him greatly. But Rachel was something different. His attraction to her came partly from her wildness, her ability to get on his last nerve and then smile sweetly in a way that calmed him instantly. He loved her dedication; her obsession with doing everything to save people. She even put herself in danger, which aggravated him no end, but that was also part of his attraction to her.

Tom used to think Rachel thought herself invincible. But as he got to know her better, he realized that she valued her work more than she valued her life. She didn't have a death wish; she definitely wanted to live. She had simply made a choice that if she died saving humanity, it would be okay, just as long as her research and the cure worked.

That bit of vulnerability kept him on his toes, watching out for her when she didn't watch out for herself. It was part of what motivated him to go to her lab tonight. He kept a mental calendar of when she ate, slept and relaxed. He never said it to her; she would tear him apart if she knew he was doing it. He also came to her lab, because he wanted to see her. He liked hanging out with her, listening to her talk about her all consuming passion for science. She led a solitary existence, he'd realized long ago after her friend, Quincy Tophet was gone. She seemed alone even aboard a shipload of people, and while she had warmed to his crew and they to her, she still worked pretty much alone with the exception of Beatrice, the young girl they'd picked up and found to be immune to the Red Flu.

There was no denying the chemistry that existed between them, but until tonight, he had managed to keep that at bay. At first, it was easy. He was married. He loved Darien and his attraction to the pretty brunette doctor had been just that, attraction. He knew he wasn't alone in this attraction; Tex had made it quite clear that he was waiting for his chance to move in if there looked like there was a ghost of a chance.

 _Sorry, Tex,_ Tom thought to himself. "I think that ghost just evaporated." In spite of his friendship for Tex, he smiled to himself. It hadn't been a challenge or sore point between them, but Tex had said on a few occasions that her light shined brightest around him. Tex had said it in jest, but under that joking façade, Tom felt Tex's bit of sadness. He knew that Tex joked to cover the fact that he believed it. And Tom, chuckled when he heard it, because a life with Rachel Scott wasn't possible as long as Darien lived. He simply had never let himself go there.

He knew that with all of their fighting and arguing, underneath it all was respect and admiration. Rachel didn't salute or act like Navy, and she was loath to act in anyway that violated her principals even if it meant going up against him. However, on a couple occasions she had let it slip about her feelings for the crew and her admiration for their teamwork, all pulling for the common good. She had been careful not to go too far in her praise of him personally, and he had felt there was more she wanted to say. But they both held their tongues.

So, they were friends, according to Tex, best friends. And, as the pain of Darien's passage lessened, he was becoming more aware of the feelings he had deliberately stamped down. He had never admitted it and never broached the subject with anyone. He hadn't even been sure if the attraction was mutual. Half the time, she got on his last nerve, but that was part of the attraction. He knew she was brilliant – her file showed all of the schools she'd attended and her accolades. But with him, she was just Rachel, a sometime pain in the butt and at all times genuinely sweet, dedicated and caring person.

He had been pondering how he would bring up his feelings for her, trying to figure out when was a good time and what he would he say. The chemistry between them had grown stronger since Darien's death, but he hadn't been sure if it was just something in his head borne out of the loneliness he felt. He also knew that he couldn't get into a relationship with Rachel until he had cleared the decks concerning his children and the successful dissemination of the cure.

With all of this in play, he had concluded that there was a lot of time between the present and the successful completion of this mission.

Rachel's current dilemma included finding an effective method to disseminate the cure. She had told him she had an idea, and that it involved that dreadful man, Sorenson. He felt bad about pushing her into working with him. While he was sure it was the right thing to do, he held no illusions about the vile nature of the man.

Neils Sorenson was the incarnation of evil, a monster with no conscience and no soul. He had killed millions and would certainly have killed more had he not been captured. His lack of regret for the men, women and children he'd murdered made even looking at him a major challenge. And he had forced Rachel to work with him, talk to him and be in his company.

 _For that, I'm so sorry you have to deal with that monster, Rachel, but we need him_. Tom sighed, rubbing his eyes. _From the point when I realized that we were the hope of humanity, I knew things would be hard. But I'm Navy; hard comes with the job._ He wondered how tough Rachel really was when it came to dealing with Neils.

Rachel had grudgingly agreed at last to work with Sorenson, more it seemed to him, so that she didn't have to continue the argument with him than the prevailing of the logic of the situation. But there was no denying the tears in her eyes, the fact that she'd unconsciously pressed her lips together into a thin, pale line, because she knew that if she opened her mouth, she would scream. The tears were for all the lost souls who had succumbed to the Red Flu, of that he was sure, and the anger was because he made her work with the man responsible.

Tom had his share of stress as well, embodied in the form of the new President of the New United States, a man who would need a lot of help to pull the Republic back together. He also needed a lot of emotional support to put his past behind him, and that bit of psychiatry had fallen to Tom, as captain, and Lt. Jeeter as unofficial ship's chaplain.

Tom hadn't considered adding another relationship until the time was right, and had approached it with logic and detachment, weighing the pros and cons of telling her that his feelings far exceeded dispassionate friendship and camaraderie until things were settled. It had all been tucked away in a neat box in his mind . . . until tonight.

 _You should have known that all of your pre-planning could be blown to hell in an instant of unbridled passion._ Relationships like babies chose their own time to arrive. And it was seldom without drama, and they were always messy. If he started a relationship with Rachel right now, it would qualify for all of those issues.

On the flipside, he did want to have a relationship with her, especially now that he new definitively that she was interested. So, how to couch it so that she didn't feel rejected, but she did know that they would need to wait was what he needed to get across to her. Now that he had found her, he didn't want to lose her.

 _I don't even have her yet, and after the way things went tonight, I'm not sure I ever will._ Rachel had mumbled an apology, red faced, eyes down. Before he could collect himself, she had spun around retreating into her lab, She had shut the door before he could get anything else out of his mouth.

He, in turn, had stood in the hallway, grinning like a fool to himself and wondering how he could get her to open the door again. He wanted to kiss her again, this time taking the lead instead of responding. He had dreamed about it long enough, and since she clearly wanted him, he needed to explain his position.

First he would kiss her again properly – gently and passionately, then he would tell her his plan for the future and see if she was interested in being a part of it. True, it sounded a bit like a Naval campaign, but when it came to her he lost all sense of suave and debonair. He was going to rely on his Naval training once again to make it past first base.

It had been the same with Darien, who when she heard the full story about how he had approached their relationship like a military campaign, some months into their relationship, had laughed so hard, she cried. But it had worked, so he bore her gentle teasing as she told him she was so far gone when it came to him, that all that planning was totally unnecessary. She had, of course, told him that he was sweet, if silly, and she loved him all the more for it.

But his knocking had produced no response, and he had suddenly been afraid to breach Rachel's lab door uninvited. So, he had knocked. The bulkhead door remained shut, so now here he sat alone in his quarters wondering how he was going to get past that closed door tomorrow. He knew he would have to make the next move. Rachel's retreat and subsequent silence told him that she had probably misread his flummoxed response. She had so caught him off guard by doing the one thing he promised himself he would never try; he had mumbled nonsense in response. And before he could collect his wits, she had retreated.

"You are the Captain. You can go anywhere you like on the Nathan James," he said to an empty room. _Yeah, right, Tom_. He lay back in his bed pondering the situation. He could just march back down to her lab, open the door and step in. _And what if she's changed her mind? Could you stand her telling you it was all a big misunderstanding?_ That brought him up short. What if it was a mistake? It didn't feel like a mistake. And what about that "you're driving me crazy" statement. Clearly, she had been thinking about it. So, no, it couldn't be a mistake.

As a captain in the Navy, he was more than used to planning and strategy, and this was no exception.

Plan A: he would invite her to have breakfast with him in his wardroom. He would have breakfast first with his officers, then call and invite her to join him for tea. _She will be on my turf making it harder for her to blow me off._

Or maybe . . .

Plan B: he would meet her on the flight deck; they liked to stand in the sun together. That would put them on equal ground.

Or maybe . . .

Plan C: he would just go to her lab. Sorenson wouldn't be there, because she hadn't requested him today, and stated she probably wouldn't need him until the beginning of the week. So, he was locked up and she was alone. _On her turf, she will feel more comfortable to talk about personal issue._ Of course, Beatrice might show up suddenly..

Or maybe . . .

Plan D: Oh hell, we can just take a RHIB out into the middle of the ocean and talk. _Captive audience strategy_.

 _What is the matter with me?_ He sighed pulling off his boots, lying back across his bed. None of those plans seemed viable, but then, he was trying to work within the framework of Rachel Scott, which meant nothing pre-planned would work. She was a brilliant anomaly, unquantifiable and unique. That's what made him love her so much.

Tom Chandler closed his eyes, smiling broadly. _At least, I hope so_.

He would deal this situation tomorrow. Fresh eyes, that's what he needed.

 _Wow, Rachel kissed me. Guess the feelings do run both ways._


	3. Chapter 3 - Love is like the wind

_For my love is like the wind, and wild is the wind!_

Rachel sat writing in her notebook, not about the lab research, but permutations of her current problem with the captain. Her favorite platinum Bowie album played softly in the background. Quincy had laughed when he found out her total love of all music by David Bowie. She missed him; they had been such great friends for so long. It was the closest relationship she'd had in a long while. They were like siblings, twins – they knew each other's language and could intuit what the other needed. Quincy would know that this particular set of Bowie songs only came out when she needed someone to share with, when her mind was upset and unfocused. But he was gone, and all she had left was the soulful singing of her favorite musician.

After sitting and ignoring the knocks on her lab door the previous evening, she had waited a full half hour before she opened the door to the corridor, sighing with relief that it was now empty. She hurried to her quarters, half expecting to be ambushed by Captain Chandler en-route to ask for an explanation of her recent behavior. And, because she had no real explanation she wanted to share with him at this point, she was glad to make her way without confrontation.

After about four hours of fitful sleep, she had given up, rising, showering, dressing and returning to the lab, stopping just long enough to grab a biscuit from the crew's mess and some tea. She knew it wouldn't be enough for the entire day, but it would have to suffice until she could skulk back to her quarters by way of the crews' mess once more.

There was no way she was going to eat in the Captain's wardroom, although there was a standing invitation. But after last night, she didn't think that invitation would still be there, and why risk rejection or worse, an awkward silence and scrutiny from his quarter. Those gorgeous blue eyes had gotten her into this fix in the first place and sitting there trying to choke down food under his silent judgment or worse, amusement was more than she could bear.

She wrote down the pros and cons, trying to gain clarity before she made another damning move. She wrote in shorthand, the different permutations of what the outcomes of last night meant. He said he wanted to discuss it, so what would he tell her.

1\. Mourn, free s/o – n/s/gd 2late

2\. Bf/nbf/china/mbdec – awk

3\. F/noF/honor/emb/s-i-l biscuits

4\. f/f good/bad/awk

5\. Mess?

6\. Op/dr = no

· Mourn, free s/o – n/s/gd. 2late which basically meant - He was in mourning; he was sort of free. _Not so good. Should have realized that last night. Well, too late now._

· Bf/nbf/china/mbdec – awk which meant she maybe had, maybe didn't have a boyfriend somewhere in China; she was free. _Definitely awkward_. _But, her feelings for her boyfriend were not there anymore. Just a deep sadness that he was probably dead._

· F/noF/honor/emb/s-i-l - biscuits which when translated it meant she had feelings for Chandler; he had no feelings for her beyond friendship, but he was an honorable gentleman. _Not so good. Definitely embarrassing_. _Got to figure a way to mend this fence. I can't spend the rest of my time on this ship eating biscuits and hiding in my lab._

· f/f good/bad/awk - She had feelings for him; he had feelings for her. _The best or the worst. Either way awkward._

· Mess? _-_ The last thing she wrote that this was now officially a mess. Maybe, it was; maybe, it wasn't.

· Op/dr = no – Open the lab door = NO!

A tentative knock interrupted her ponderings. She closed her notebook and stared at the door like it was a monster with ten heads, five arms and oozing green slime. The knock came again, and she rose to answer it. Looking at the other end of the lab, she chose instead to go out the opposite exit leading up the p-way to the flight deck.

She stood on the small area overlooking the flight deck. She could probably climb down and make her getaway, before he caught her and started talking. Or, she could simply turn around and face him, take his carefully worded rejection and then move on in a cool and collected manner. She leaned forward looking over the railing into the deep sea below.

No, she was a fighter. And a little rejection wouldn't stop her. Why was this any different than it was with anybody else. When she and her now gone, probably dead boyfriend had parted easily enough, he had promised to return in a few months, and that had been a promise that was a bit sketchy at best. While she was sad to see him go, and she kept a picture of him as her computer background image, she had never felt the urge to run after him. They had a nice relationship, but it wasn't that intense. Not like the feelings she currently experienced.

She was brave and maybe it was for the best. Her productivity had certainly decreased over the past few weeks with all this mushy love business running through her mind. With this out of the way, she would be able to get back to the business of saving humanity and living with her test animals.

"Rachel," she turned to see Tom standing in the doorway. "Are you okay?" She just continued to start at him. Blink, blink . . . . _Say something, stupid_. _Stop gapping at him._

"Hi," she smiled at him, waving her hand in an attempt to appear casual. "I needed some air." _Yeah, right. Suddenly, and at a top speed run to this overlook._

He stepped out onto the small overlook starring out at the ocean. It was a great view in the morning, the sun slowly rising, the waves slapping against the ship as it made its way towards its destination. The breeze was lovely, the sea air with just a nip to remind them that fall was coming. He stood next to her closer than she was used to, as they continued to look outward at the sea.

"Thank you," he said softly after a few moments. Another pause.

"For making a fool of myself?" she finally replied in kind. They continued to study the sea as if the answers to their problems resided there.

"You didn't make a fool out of yourself." Another pause.

"Yes, I did," she whispered then cleared her throat. "No need to tell me that I misread everything and that your concern was only for the wellbeing of another crew member. I get it." There, she had said it. And while each word felt wrenched from her, it at least gave them the chance to save face. "I was very tired." She threw the last statement out there as a life preserver for reclaiming boundaries. "I don't know what I was thinking."

"Can I kiss you back?" He continued to stare out at the ocean.

 _Wait, what did he say?_ "Excuse me?" she replied.

"You heard me." Tom continued to look outwards, but she realized he was standing closer than when he had first came outside which was a feat in itself, because the overlook was pretty small. She took a deep breath, but didn't move away.

"Now?" Even though they were alone, they were still out in the open after all. "After all that about no fraternization and such, doesn't that come into play?" Why was she throwing up roadblocks?

"Only between people in the Navy. As you're so fond of reminding me, you're not now nor would you ever be in the Navy. I think you said something about too many rules to remember even for somebody with a near perfect memory?" He saw her lips curl upward slightly and she relaxed a little. "So, I guess I could kiss you in front of Admiral Wilson, and he wouldn't have a word to say about it."

She snickered in spite of her resolve then went quiet again. She looked below seeing a couple of the junior officers walking across the flight deck. They didn't look in their direction, but hurried towards their destination at the other side where they went through a hatch and disappeared.

"So, can I?" Tom persisted.

"Yes." She turned and headed back inside leaving him standing alone momentarily before he turned and followed her. She kept her back to him, looking down at some lab notes as she felt him approach. She had never been shy; most folks felt her reserved and one friend had told her she lived in her head too much. But, none of that was at play right now.

 _Be careful what you wish for._ She felt his hand lightly on her shoulder and tensed. It was like she'd been touched by electricity. His touch sent shivers up her spine and warmed her in other places. She felt vulnerable, too. In order to let him in, she needed to let her defenses down, and she had lived in her walled-off existence for so long, she wasn't sure how to accomplish that. What if he went away? What if it was just a rebound affair? _What if he died?_

And, there was the crux of it. To love someone . . . to really love someone, you have to let them in, and you have to know that they might die on you, leaving you behind in a world where you were only one half of a whole. So many people had died in her life; she had been left behind so often that she couldn't bear the idea that the one man she would give her life for would die on her one day. If . . . when she let him in, she would be forever one half of a whole. And what if he died?

Rachel closed her eyes against the pain of her ruminations, as she felt him gently turning her around to face him. She opened her eyes gazing into his crystal clear blue that reminded her of the sky right before the sun disappeared into dark rich indigo, with specks of wild colors here and there. She could get lost in that gaze, and as he moved closer, she felt her fears recede and the allowing warmth of him, the half-smile and the gentleness envelope her.

Their embrace was like magic in her mind; his lips were so soft on hers, and his tongue gently probed for access. With her allowance came the opening of the walls that had so long protected her. She was letting him in, and the vulnerability of it terrified her. But, she kept going. Something about Tom Chandler made it okay to be vulnerable. Her terror at the prospect was being offset by his presence, his gentle pushing of her boundaries. She could live in this moment forever.

Then he stopped and simply wrapped his arms around her, their breathing synchronized and calming. "I have wanted to do that for so long," he whispered. She felt herself leaning into him. It felt so good to have someone to lean on, someone stronger than she was, because she kept herself reserved because the momentum of her work and study had always fortified her.

In the rare moments when she actually slowed down and thought about being with a man for the long term, she felt vulnerable and weak. Her drive to be invincible had gotten her to her current position. She was saving the world, but she was doing it at the expense of herself. She wasn't bereft of relationships. She was human after all. But her shallow connections, sexual hookups and long distance relationships had been fun yet disconnected. There was no risk of getting hurt, but there was also no chance of feeling the way she felt now.

To be standing here letting a man hold her without issuing a snarky comment or making a quick move to end the hug was something new, frightening and exciting simultaneously.

"I have wanted to kiss you for a long time, too, but it didn't seem right." Tom said. "I know, we'll have to discuss things, but right now, it feels good to hold you." He hugged her tighter, and she could hear his heartbeat. She didn't want this moment to end, but he slowly released her and she was disappointed for the closeness to end.

But before she could collect herself, he leaned in for another kiss. This one took her to her tiptoes as he gently caressed her as he pressed his lips against hers. This one was more passionate, less hesitant and she felt it throughout her body. It felt good, really good and she felt like it tingled. He gently let her roll back on the balls of her feet on the deck.

"You kiss nice, Chandler." she smiled, eyes closed.

"Chandler?" Rachel opened her eyes, suddenly embarrassed at using the name she used for him in her fantasies. She was making all kinds of slips with him. Under normal circumstances, she would already be beating herself up mentally for her lack of discipline in this situation.

"Just my nickname for you. I meant Tom." He smiled down at her, rearranging stray hairs behind her ear, running his hand gently across her cheek in the process.

"Chandler is fine," He reassured her. "I kind of like it when you say it." His blue eyes twinkled as he gave her that boyish, half-grin of his. He was so much bigger than she was, and they were so different in temperament. She wondered if a relationship with him would work out. She was game to try, and if her feelings had anything to say about it, there would be no problem.

"I'm going to go now," he informed her and her snark returned.

"Thank you for sharing," she grinned at him, and he chuckled in return.

"Okay. I was going to ask you to dinner in my wardroom, but I guess I'll just leave you here in the lab." He teased her back. Without thinking, she grabbed his arm slowing him as he turned towards the door.

"Don't you dare," she said pulling him back towards her. He came willingly with a look of triumph on his face, but she didn't care. He could out snark her anytime, as long as he kept kissing her. Her wild mind travelled toward the next logical step post kissing. But dinner was first. "What time is dinner?"

"2000 hours?" His smile was so damned charming.

"Okay, I'll be there," she said. He kissed her for the third time that morning, and she knew even before he finished, that she was already head over heels for him. And, then he was gone, back to running the ship, and she was again the doctor working on the cure for humanity.

 _It's going to be the longest day of my life_ , she thought, powering up another console and looking at her research notes for cure dispersal. She licked her lips remembering.

 _What if he dies?_ Her mind threw in. "I guess I'll have to deal with that when and if it happens," she said to her empty lab. Losing someone you love suddenly was one of her worst fears, but with this fledgling relationship, she figured she would have to take it on. She didn't want it to take over her emotional state. It had been a part of her life and actions for too long. So, she might as well get past it now that she had something worth fighting for.


	4. Chapter 4 - The Prettiest Star

One day though it might as well be someday

You and I will rise up all the way

All because of what you are, The Prettiest Star

— David Bowie

"You with me, sir?" Commander Slattery stopped talking staring at Captain Chandler expectantly — eyebrows raised, a slight smile and pause in the conversation. He expected an answer from his commanding officer, but he didn't receive it.

Thomas Chandler sat in his wardroom, picking at his dinner, holding down half a a conversation with his top officers. It wasn't about anything important, just friendly banter about various things going on in departments on the Nathan James, but he was usually quite engaged in the conversation with them.

He had made the rule that his senior officers ate together with him every evening. He found that it was an easy way to find out what was going in the various departments onboard, and it allowed him to keep a feel for the goings on in places outside of his direct control. It was also a nice way to touch base with his senior officers, to let them know they were appreciated and provide a place where they could relax.

Officers generally had to maintain a level of professionalism, so that the junior officers and enlisted men had role models to follow. In the private wardroom, they could relax and let their hair down a bit. Normally, it was as much fun for him as it was for them, but tonight it felt like dinner with his officers was taking an inordinate amount of time.

Although, they had been together for about 45 minutes, Tom felt like it had been 45 years of conversation. He knew it was silly, but he couldn't stay focussed on the conversation at hand. His mind kept slipping away to what happened last night and this morning. He was also anticipating the real dinner he would have with Rachel Scott after his officers departed.

"Well, I was thinking of getting the game going on a regular basis," Slattery continued when he didn't get a response, "because it would give people a chance to get some topside exercise and unwind."

"That's a good idea," Tom replied. It was a good thing his XO had continued, because it allowed him to cover the fact that his mind had wandered away to Rachel Scott-land yet again "By keeping score of who wins, perhaps, a few departments could get together and play competitively versus the pickup style game we have going on now. It would allow more people to get involved."

"Exactly," Slattery continued.

He was attracted to Rachel in a kind of heady trance, the same way a butterfly is attracted to nectar. To him, she was just the right blend of sassy, sweet and shy, and was quite simply one of the kindest people he had ever met. They argued, yes, but it was usually about her level of caring for humanity. She had taken on the burden of finding a cure, and she carried that burden like she was the only one in the world who could accomplish the task. That weight, at times, seemed so heavy that it about broke her, but she soldiered on at the expense of sleep, food and at times her health.

He knew she had a fiery passion for everything she did, and she brought that passion to the start of their relationship. When she had drawn him close, kissing him with all of her heart and soul, he had been stunned. He knew she approached everything giving 110% effort, so he shouldn't have been surprised. But her kiss had set off a bomb of lust, love and clattering feelings in him that left him breathless. When he went to see her the next morning, he had been prepared for her energy, or so he'd thought.

He could get lost in her sweet chocolate eyes that seemed to melt at the slightest hint of love or happiness. They drew him in every time he looked at her, that and her lips, full and so kissably soft . . .

"We'd like to run a couple of drills to keep the men on their toes," Slattery was talking again, this time about ship's business, and Tom reluctantly dragged his attention back to the Nathan James.

"Draw up your plans and let me have a look at them before you execute them. That way I'll know what you're planning." Tom smiled when he spoke, covering his mild annoyance. His men continued to talk to him, but his mind was only half present. The rest of his mind was replaying this morning, the invite for dinner and the hope that nothing would come in between that meeting.

There was a knock on the door, and everyone looked expectantly. The door opened and Tex walked in, smiling and apologizing for being late. "I ran into Mr. Ferris, and he was going on about the wonders of bacon, and how ever dish can be made better by the strategic inclusion of bacon . . . Even ice cream, it seems, is improved by the addition of bacon bits."

Everyone laughed as they shuffled their chairs sideways to make room for him. He carried a plate of food which he plunked on the table followed by an orange drink. "Thanks for the invite, Commodore," he smiled at Tom. "It will make it easier to discuss what you wanted me to do with some of the younger enlisted men." Tex cut up his chicken, making neat squares out of it, before he started eating. It seemed a bit OCD, but Tom didn't react. He also didn't let his face show the sinking feeling he now had in the pit of his stomach about how long this was going to take. He had forgotten about Tex's meeting appointment they had made yesterday.

 _Hell, between yesterday when I had all the time in the world, and today when I can't wait for everyone to leave, so much has happened._ And Tex certainly could talk when something really interested him. Teaching martial arts interested him. Tex had found the perfect teacher, and he felt that it would be in everybody's best interest if everyone learned to defend themselves. This new world and the dying old world was very dangerous, and every person needed to be on their toes.

"He's a bit shy, believe it or not. But I caught him practicing Tai Chi on the flight deck the other day, and he also is a black belt in karate with a working knowledge of Jujitsu. I was stunned. I've never seen this guy say more than three words to anybody. He told me he studied with some master or another, and he has a number of books on the art in his locker."

"So, we should use his skills," Slattery put in. "But, he's a ghost. He doesn't socialize with anyone. He does his job in engineering, and he's a hard worker, right Andrea? But, he seldom meets your gaze, and he's always seemed to be kind of unapproachable."

"He may come off as unapproachable, but he's actually more shy than anything. He's very nice and extremely respectful. He lives in his head, that's what I think," Commander Andrea Garnett countered, "I have talked to him a bit more. He once told me that he went into the Navy, because he was a graduate of the foster care system in Chicago. He decided on the Navy, he told me, because he loves the ocean, and would one day like to be an oceanographer. He has that book submariners use to identify naturally occurring ocean sounds versus sub-sounds, plus some other paperbacks on oceanography that he studies."

"Sounds like he's got hopes and dreams," Tom said.

"He does. Some of the guys call him Short Stack, not because he likes pancakes, but because he's so short and thin. You would think he was starving himself, but he isn't. He's 5'5" and he's a vegetarian."

Everyone laughed at her pancake joke. "My other seaman are always joking around, rough housing a bit, but not Michael Dorsan. Come to think of it, I have rarely seen him smile."

Although Tom knew Mr. Dorsan from his file, and he had said hello to him on many an occasion, he realized that his officers were right. Short Stack, as Andrea Garnett called him, had done an admiral job of remaining invisible. He was always at the back of formation, he never spoke loudly that Tom could recall, and he disappeared into the bowels of the ship given half a chance.

"A ghost, huh," Tom voiced. "He's 18, isn't he?"

"Yes, and he just made Petty Officer, third class. He is smart, quiet and willing to do anything asked of him. My work write-ups on him have been exemplary. He's the kind of seaman a commander loves. He does his job and causes no trouble."

"So, Tex, you think he's a martial artist talent waiting to be discovered?" Tom looked at his friend. Tom respected Tex's opinion, and since he had boarded the Nathan James in Guantanamo, he had been a great asset as well as a good friend. Tom knew Tex hid his sharp mind behind that slow talking, joking facade and slightly disheveled look. He was an excellent fighter and a good judge of character.

"Yes, Commodore, I think he might be a real help. I know everyone got basic defense training when they joined the Navy. However, I think, and don't hold me to this, he knows a whole lot more."

"I agree with Tex," Commander Andrea Garnett put in, "I think he knows a lot more than he lets on, too. He reads, in fact all he does is read and listen to those headphones of his."

"That's what I thought," Tex continued, "but I was hard pressed to get anything out of him. He is young, but if you see him doing "his form", he is quite beautiful and strong. He can stand on one leg with the other one extended for minutes. He seems to practice Tai Chi, Kung Fu forms and Jujitsu when he knows everyone is sleeping. I caught him at 0430, because I had a lousy case of insomnia."

"I think this is worth exploring more. Tex, why don't you talk to Mr. Dorsan and let me know your assessment before I speak to him." Tom deliberately made his tone one of the "let's wrap this up," kind. He wanted to know more; in fact, Dorsan sounded extremely interesting as a hidden talent. However, his mind was on another member of Nathan James family. And she wasn't doing martial arts training.

The last thing he needed was for Rachel to turn up in the middle of him talking to Tex. If anybody could tell something was going on, it would be Tex, and Tom wasn't ready to give that gossip a boost. Not that he thought Tex was the gossipy type, but he would do a bit of teasing if he caught wind of their increasing feelings.

Everyone else at the table began to stand to take their leave, but Tex remained seated. His took a short swig of his orange drink and waited while the room cleared. "I had something else I wanted to talk to you about, Commodore," Tex said when the room was empty.

Tom sighed. Why did everyone need him today? Did Tex have a sixth sense about what Tom was waiting for? Or was the universe simply playing a cruel joke on him, because he was so looking forward to time with Rachel.

As if on queue, there was a soft knock at the door. Tex looked at the door and smiled. "You are definitely in demand tonight,"

"Yes," Tom sighed before telling the new arrival to come in. Of course, it was Rachel, carrying two notebooks, a stack of papers and her computer. _Smart move, Rachel._ Of course, he hadn't expected her to turn up naked, although the idea of her naked form awakened a nice feeling in his loins, but the fact that she looked like she was ready to work made his thoughts easier to cover.

"Hi gorgeous," Tex stood pushing his chair back slightly and bowing. "Coming to bend the Captain's ear on new revelations in science?"

Rachel smiled back at Tex, her brown eyes twinkling with what he surmised was friendly camaraderie. "Something like that." Her gaze moved to him, and he felt a rush of heat. He also noticed a swelling between his legs that, if noticed by Tex, would be very hard to explain. _Think about something else,Tom._

She was so pretty, and he noticed her clothes which were casual, the ubiquitous look and feel all academics had but tonight a little bit more: a tight form fitting pink top, tight blue jeans and her cute boots. All in all, her outfit flattered her in all the right places, and all he wanted to do was relieve her off that outfit and make her his completely. Why did just looking at her garble his brain and make it mush, making it almost impossible to string three words together.

 _Tex is still here, you idiot. Get yourself together. "_ Sit, sit, _"_ Tom indicated a seat at a safe distance from him at the end of the table. "Put your stuff down. Have you had dinner?" Rachel smiled placing her computer and other items on the table.

"I haven't had anything since this morning," she replied. He saw that slight smile that he knew meant she wasn't talking about food.

"I'll have something sent in. What would you like?"

And then it happened . . .

That pregnant pause that betrays a world of want. Her mouth said salad, but her gaze said she wanted him and only him . . . After that, he didn't know what to do. He didn't rise to make the call; he couldn't, not with Tex watching. All his friend needed to see was his flagpole standing at full attention.

Instead, he just crossed his legs covering the growing bulge, and hoped Rachel would figure out that she needed to make that call.

Rachel opened her computer and stared intently at the screen. "I'm okay for now. I assume you and Tex have something to talk about. Should I come back or can I just work over here?"

Tex grinned at her. "No need to leave on my account, darlin'."

"Okay, I'll get my analysis set up for you, Captain." Again she gave him that smile, almost coquettish and heavy with promise of things to come. Her lips were so soft and kissable. _Concentrate on Tex!_

"So, what did you want to talk about, Tex?" He saw Rachel working diligently, perhaps a bit too diligently, in his peripheral vision. She was beautiful and incredibly sexy. He didn't think he would see that pink shirt the same way ever again. He had spent all day going through the motions, his thoughts wandering again and again to what they'd shared that morning. It hadn't been a lot, no hot and heavy sex on the lab table, but it had set his mind in motion about what was possible.

He had spent the rest of day playing out different scenarios that all involved Rachel and how best to move their relationship forward. With each scenario, his internal passion had risen in kind. When she arrived wearing that tight shirt, tight jeans topped with a come hither smile, he was all but ready to take her on the wardroom table. He knew she knew exactly what she was doing. _Well, did you expect her to show up in a potato sack?_

"So, we can use the deck for a basketball competition. All we need are more balls; they keep flying over the side of the ship." Tex concluded. "On our next land run, we can add balls to our list of things needed."

"Of course, Tex. I think that's a splendid idea. Commander Slattery started the conversation before you got here, so I'm already onboard." Tom gave him his best smile. "I'll leave it to you to get things organized." Tom leaned forward extending his hand like one does at the conclusion of the meeting. The lean forward put pressure on his erection reminding him that he was still unable to stand. At this moment, he could care less about basketballs and competitive sports. In his logical mind, he knew it was a good idea, but in his limbic brain, he just wanted Tex gone.

 _You are such a dog, Tom._

Tex took his hand looking slightly confused. "Okay, Commodore. I didn't think it was that great of an idea that it would warrant such an ovation, but clearly I was mistaken." Tex's eyes traveled to where Rachel was sitting, still hunched over her computer, her slender fingers tapping quickly on the keyboard, a silver bangle tapping on the edge of the keyboard. She appeared completely absorbed in her work.

Tex rose to leave, but Tom remained seated. Normally, they would part both standing as was custom. Sitting as Tex left was a bit rude in Tom's opinion, but he couldn't do anything about it. Better Tex think him too tired to stand, than think he was a horny out-of-control teenager. He doubted Tex would say anything with Rachel in the room, but he would be in for a round of teasing and questions when they were alone. Tom wasn't ready to answer questions, and Tex's teasing would hit too close to home for him to hide his feelings if pressed.

"G'nite, Rach," Tex waved in her direction, and she returned the wave. He reached the door, and almost turned the knob, when he turned back. His eyebrows raised slightly as he saw the look on Tom's face. He caught him staring directly at Rachel, a goofy grin on his face. Seeing that Tex hadn't quite left, Tom regained his composure and his face quickly masked his look of pure affection.

Tex grinned. "Never mind, Commodore," was all he said, then he turned, opened the door and was gone. So much for keeping a low profile. As the door shut, Rachel continued to work on her computer.


	5. Chapter 5 - Love is the Key We Must Turn

Love is the key we must turn

Truth is the flame we must learn

Freedom the lesson we must learn

Do you know what I mean?

Have your eyes really seen?

— David Bowie

Tom was confused for a moment, then got up to go and sit next to Rachel. "What are you working on so feverishly?" he said as he slid into the seat next to her.

"Analysis," was her only reply.

"Of what?" he asked, looking at the screen of numbers and graphs.

"How long it would take for you to kiss me again, among other things." She giggled, put kept her gaze on her screen. "It's a complicated equation."

"Is it now?"

"Yes, you have to take into account the bulge in your pants, barely covered for modesty, the smile you gave me when you saw me, your extremely loud thoughts and how you started to undress me before Tex was gone."

"I think he saw that last part," Tom said softly.

"He won't say anything," she replied. "So, Chandler, what do we do now?"

"What do your equations tell you?" Rachel was quiet for a moment as if she were considering her results. He started grinning at her, that soft, lopsided grin he got when he thought about her. Tom hadn't felt like grinning like that in a long time. It felt good, and even though they were charged with accomplishing the impossible, in this small space of intimacy, he found surcease and a brief normalcy. What is more normal than kissing, loving and being loved. Trading smiles and secret looks and warm embraces. What's more normal than making love, tender and pleasing, passionate and fiery — in a world where everything seemed grim, grave and dying, it was nice to share something so damned normal.

"I think it would be bad to make out on the wardroom table," Rachel laughed softly when she said that. "So, I guess we'll have to settle for a kiss or two."

Tom pulled on the arm of her chair. "Just a kiss or two?" He turned her chair away from her computer screen staring into her deep chocolate gaze. Her lips were slightly parted in a half smile.

They drew together, passion their common denominator as she leaned into his kiss and his tongue gained access to hers. It was magical; it was wonderful. He wondered how he would tell her about his plans, his strategies muddled in this sea of wonderful feelings. With the second kiss, he forgot about it and all he thought about was her, how she felt, how she smelled so sweet, how her tender caresses made him feel both heady and vulnerable, and how he had loved her for so long. That last thought made him cringe slightly with guilt, but he had to admit it was true.

Rachel had gotten into his head long before he'd like to admit. But his honor and love for Darien had held it all in check. His love for Darien had been long, deep and committed. He would never trade their time together for anything. But, his feelings for Rachel took a different path, but the depth of them kept surprising him. How something so simple as a kiss could make him fee l this way made him feel a little guilty. He would always have that guilt, he supposed. For right now, though Tom could only marvel at the miracle that had brought them together.

With each kiss, he felt her passion and in her caresses he found a gentle spirit that loved without judgment. Rachel seemed at once so powerful and fragile. He promised himself with their third kiss shared that he would never do anything to destroy that bond.

 _And let us not forget pure, unadulterated lust._ The bulge in his pants was getting to a point where he would have to either take a cold shower, go do some exercise or figure out how to consummate the evening with Rachel right then and there. He had a plan, and while it would be a little sketchy, he didn't see it being too risky. He couldn't just lock the wardroom, and throw her on the table like some neanderthal.

He wanted to make slow, sweet love with her, and that required a bed and some privacy. His quarters or hers? And, what could he do with the prominent protrusion in his pants. If he met anybody, the jig would be up, and the more he kissed her the harder it got.

He detached reluctantly and proposed coming by to her quarters later. She looked surprised but agreed. "You think no one will notice?" she asked. "I mean, you wouldn't have a really good reason for being in my neck of the woods, would you?"

"I'll think of something. It's my ship, so I can go anywhere I like."

"Yes, Sir." She gave him a mock salute, then smiled again. "I'm only thinking about your reputation, you know."

"I know, and I appreciate that," he replied. "It will be late, so probably everyone will either be sleep or at their stations for night duty. Leave your door unlocked, and I'll just slip in."

"Make sure you slip in the right door, or there will be someone who's really surprised," she laughed at his raised eyebrow look in her direction. "I'll put a ribbon on my door knob, so you don't get confused."

"I don't know, Rachel," he feigned seriousness, "you seem to think I'm too confused to find you. We might have to wait until I get my bearings."

"Oh boo." She looked crestfallen, and he felt that she almost pulled off that hurt puppy dog look. However, she couldn't stop a chuckle escaping. "If you get lost, I guess I'll have to take care of myself."

"You better not," Tom replied, perhaps a little too quickly. He knew he was starting to blush in spite of himself.

"Uh-huh, so you think you can deliver the goods?" It was his turn to be surprised. She was challenging him; it was a playful challenge, but it was at the core of their relationship. She was feisty, provocative and sassy. He liked the challenge, and it seemed she might be the same way in their intimate life. This was going to be very interesting.

"I think I can bring it," he replied, "but, I tell you what, if you're disappointed you can lodge an official complaint."

"I can? To who?" She was smirking when she said it. He leaned closer rubbing her left breast centering on the nipple. His caress was soft, but hard enough to make her jump then sigh. He continued rubbing her breast until he heard a soft sigh. He watched her close her eyes, watched her relax into what he was doing.

After about a minute of caressing her breast, he broke contact, Rachel started to object but he placed a finger on her lips silencing her, "You can report your complaints to the captain, of course." He returned to rubbing her breast, this time picking the opposite one. She was wearing one of those soft bras with no padding, and her nipples were now standing at attention. When he started circling her nipple, tweaking and rubbing, she squirmed. "But, I don't think you'll have any complaints," he whispered in her ear. He nibbled on her ear playfully.

"Stop," she said, "if you don't stop, we won't make it to my quarters." Tom had to admit she was right. He was so hard now, it would be impossible for him to walk normally down the corridor. She could hide it better, but he suspected she was very wet in her very tight jeans. _You've still got it._ He pulled her off her chair and onto his lap kissing her neck gently. "Tom, stop, please."

He pulled back looking at her. He loved her eyes which reminded him of sweet chocolate that melted at the slightest bit of heat from love. "You don't like what I'm doing?"

"I love it," she whispered. "But, we're in your wardroom."

"So?" Tom grinned at her. He knew he was baiting her, but he felt turnabout was fair play. He could tease her back. He acted like he was going to unbutton her jeans. Clearly conflicted, she made a half-hearted attempt at stopping him, giving up and instead leaning against him.

"Have I ever told you that you have dreamy eyes?" she whispered.

"No, Doctor Scott. Is that a scientific assessment." Tom continued to rub her breast.

"I'm so horny, you better show up." Her eyes were closed, a slight smile gracing her lips. "Yes, dreamy."

"I like dreamy. I can do dreamy."

Rachel's next statement was spoken so softly that at first he thought he had misheard her, and when he realized he hadn't, it brought him up short. That playful sassy had given way temporarily to sadness. "I can't keep distance between us, and that scares me so. Being this close means you will have the ability to destroy me. I can only hope that you never do that."

Tom hugged her then, his sexual feelings temporarily supplanted by a warmth and tightening in his chest. He knew he was falling for her. _Hell, it was probably too late already._ Her admission made him all the more determined to grow their relationship. _What happened to you Rachel that you had to build your emotional walls so high? Why on earth would you think that letting your barriers down would give the other person the ability to destroy you?_

Doctor Rachel Scott, the savior of humanity was dedicated and focussed, possessed of a toughness that allowed her to take on all comers. And, now he was meeting the private Rachel Scott. He had a glimpse of that in their friendship, but her quiet admission, and her unspoken plea told him more about his new lover. Her official file did nothing to highlight her personal struggles, and he suspected that there were many things she kept locked inside.

 _In for a penny; in for a pound._ Tom was there for the long haul, and he would gently pry away the layers of hurt until there was nothing but love between them. He likened her walls to an onion; many tears would be shed, but in the end, there would only be happiness. At least, that was his plan.

Things had moved at lightening speeds between them; it had always been that way. In a world gone mad, you had to seize happiness and grab love where you find it. In this instance, they had found each other through their combined cause to find a cure for the human race. It had always been high intensity; the situation made it impossible to be anything but intense.

There was a knock at the wardroom door, and Rachel looked at him surprised. Her nipples were very apparent under her tight shirt, and his erection was equally apparent. "Just a minute," he said quickly. Rachel stood up and sat back in the chair she was in previously. She pulled up some scientific statistics and started reading them. He could see she was trying to wrench her mind away from the intimate moments from before.

"Ready?" he asked. She nodded in the affirmative.

"Come in," he said after positioning himself so that his lap was under the table.

The door opened and a short, slight young man stepped inside. "I'm Seaman Michael Dorsan," the young man stated. "Mr. Nolan spoke to me about doing martial arts training. He asked me to speak with you directly."

Tom looked him over; he didn't look like much. Short sandy hair cut in standard Navy style, blue eyes he thought, because Dorsan didn't look at him, thin to the point of being too skinny, standing at attention.

"So, you are a martial arts expert, Mr. Dorsan?"

"No, Sir," came the quiet reply. "That's what I came to tell you. I am a student of martial arts, but I am no expert."

"I was under the impression you were a black belt."

"Yes, Sir." Dorsan continued to stand at attention, and Tom was struck by how young he looked.

"Don't you think that makes you an expert?"

"No, Sir."

"Um, okay. Do you think you could teach someone who is a beginner how to do Jujitsu or karate?" Michael Dorsan swallowed hard a couple times before replying. "At ease, seaman." Dorsan responded taking up the standard posture, feet separated, hands behind his back. Tom looked at his work uniform; it fit but it appeared to be a bit too big. Clearly, this young man didn't eat much.

"I'm not qualified to teach, Sir." Dorsan replied softly, eyes downcast, shoulders slightly slumped. This kid had zero confidence. He knew foster care was a broken system, but he had to wonder what had happened to make this kid the way he was.

"I see," Tom realized that Rachel was watching the exchange. Their gazes locked briefly, and she shook her head "no" silently. Something in the exchange she was watching told her to tell him not to pursue it right now. Her silent head shake communicated that to him. Not that he wasn't aware of the level of tension in the room. Dorsan looked like he was about to run or stand there waiting to be punched in the gut.

"Very well, Mr. Dorsan," Tom said. "Let's talk about this again. First, I'd like to get together with you in the gym. Maybe, you can show me a little of what you do. Tomorrow morning?"

"I am not very good, Sir." Tom didn't think that Dorsan's voice could get any softer, but Dorsan surprised him. He was almost whispering, "You shouldn't waste your time, Sir. I told Mr. Nolan that."

"Why don't you let me be the judge of that, son," Tom replied. "Let's get together tomorrow morning. When does your shift start?"

"I work the night shift," Dorsan sounded dejected. Clearly, he wanted to put an end towards any activity that would attract attention.

"Why don't we meet in the gym at 0600 then. We can just try a few moves or just talk about it some more. Okay?"

"Yes, Sir. 0600 in the gym. I'll be there." Dorsan continued to swallow hard. It was almost painful to Tom. Dorsan had heart — that's what Garnett had told him. He wondered how much of that heart it took for him to show up here to tell his commanding officer no, he couldn't help him.

"Dismissed, Mr. Dorsan. Have a nice evening."

Dorsan looked relieved. "Thank you, Sir." He turned to leave, his gaze landing on Rachel. "Good night, Doctor Scott."

"Good night, Mr. Dorsan."

And then he was gone, disappearing out the door, it closing quietly behind him.


	6. Chapter 6 - Michael Dorsan

Sons of the silent age  
Stand on platforms, blank looks and notebooks  
Sit in back rows of city limits . .

— David Bowie

Even silence means something, if you know how to listen. Michael Dorsan's silence spoke volumes to Rachel. She was a night owl like him, and she had observed him practicing on the deck in the wee hours of the morning. She started talking to him, sporadically at first, but of late most every night. After a long time spent on small talk, he had begun to open up to her, and she subsequently learned of his past. They were kindred spirits.

She quickly ascertained that he was more than just shy; he was as close to broken as she had ever felt in a person. Dorsan's stance, countenance and deliberate denials of being worth anything gave her pause, because she remembered long ago feeling that way, too. Rachel already knew that he was an overachiever, hiding in the background working feverishly on whatever he was assigned.

Rachel had never mentioned his martial arts training at night, nor the fact that she had given him some of her digital books on biology and oceanography. Who was she going to tell anyway? At best, it would be an interesting conversation with little meaning; at worst, it would expose Dorsan to scrutiny. And if there was one thing she new about Michael Dorsan was that he hated scrutiny. He had told her one night that loved the sea; he loved the freedom of it, the myriad of animals that lived there and the fact that it was a final frontier of sorts. He was also a Star Trek fan, and he loved David Bowie.

Maybe, she was over identifying with him, but she doubted it. When you meet your own kind, you instinctively know them. His stance, look and soft spoken manner spoke otherwise as well, and in a moment when their gazes met, she saw that same haunted, hunted look she used to see in her mirror. In order to deal with her insecurities borne of years of emotional neglect, she had overcompensated. It had made her bold, at times, pushy. She had learned to speak with volume and conviction. It made her a worthy adversary, fearless to the point of madness at points. It also kept at bay her own thoughts of not being up to the task, of failing utterly at something and having her lack of ability laid bare.

Rachel saw in Dorsan what she was like before she joined the quest to be great in the scientific community, and even now, she sometimes still doubted her worth. He was just starting on that journey; she already knew why he had joined the Navy. He wanted to distinguish himself, and the service was one of those places where you could do that. He would work in the background on the night shift and go above and beyond. He would be the best at his post; he had to be lest he fall prey to the cantankerous screeching of the harpy voice all damaged souls carry around in their heads.

He also couldn't slow down; he strived for perfection in all things and worked at stances and forms until he near dropped from over exertion. It reminded hereof the way like ran on the treadmill at a fevered pitch when the ghosts of her past reared their ugly heads. It was like the devil himself was chasing her Tex had commented once. It was true. In her mind, the devil was chasing her, and his face was that of her father, watching her mother die due to his brand of insanity and not being able to do anything about it. Combine that will all of the other gender biased men she'd encountered on her rise to the top, and she had reason to run for her life.

In the background was also her very abusive, first boyfriend who had hurled accusations at her and insulted her at every turn until she'd left him one day without a word. Her confidence shattered, she had picked up the pieces of her life and continued. It made her wary of any kind of deep relationship with men; it also made her more driven to prove that the words her ex-boyfriend screamed were a lie. She had succeeded at both, overachieving her way to prominence and having very shallow, sexually motivated liaisons that meant nothing. It was why this relationship with Captain Chandler scared her so. Rachel had already figured out that he didn't do "shallow."

Dorsan epitomized her feelings of self doubt and then some. He seemed more damaged than she, but his gaze locked with hers again when the Captain looked away. He looked trapped, a deer in the headlights. Rachel felt for him. For someone like Captain Chandler, that level of insecurity was probably alien to him. She gave Dorsan a smile, silently willing him her strength. _I got you; I've been where you're going._

Her father had only acknowledged her scientific acumen after years of study and hard work in the field. But he had said it with qualifications. He was a preacher and she was a scientist. Even though he believed she was talented, he thought her misguided. She would probably be going straight to hell upon her death; that was his standing theory. She couldn't say he was a loving father; he was more absorbed, dedicated, even obsessed with God.

Whoever Michael Dorsan was before the foster care system, homelessness and a life with people who thought drugs and alcohol solved all problems, had bashed the life out of him. That boy was gone leaving in his wake a working, breathing shadow of a man striving to become relevant. He seemed to possess only a trace of those things held dear by everyone who wasn't broken: confidence, love and happiness, Little of that was embodied in the remnant of the young man shaking in front of his commanding officer. When they were alone, she could draw him out, get him to talk about what interested him. In front of the Captain, he was completely closed down.

All around them on the ship, as people moved, talked and laughed, Dorsan went along silently. He was the incarnation of the truth about the lack of love in one's life, about what will happen to all of us who are denied it. It is stark and plain to see in his downtrodden countenance. There seemed to be nothing left for him even before the Red Flu gathered up most of humanity.

The Navy provided him with a stable foundation, probably for the first time in his life. That's what he had told her. "I get food everyday," he had told her one night, "and, I get a clean bed and time to read and listen to music."

The Navy gave him a chance to build himself back up, to turn away from the abyss and walk a journey towards freedom from his past and a chance to take pride in his future. Rachel had done it; she could help him do it, and she'd bet that once Tom Chandler knew more about him, he would give him a lot of chances to become whole, too.

Their nightly chats had become quite regular; he would be on the deck practicing, but she also thought he was waiting to see her. He had no mother, so in a way, she mothered him. Rachel listened, encouraged and joked with him. And, after a long period of solemnity, she had told him a joke and heard him laugh. With anybody else, laughter would be normal, but with Michael Dorsan, it was a monumental shift in thinking.

She was watching him out of the corner of her eye standing in front of the Captain, imagining a happier life for him: a muddy dog bounding into a house chasing a bouncing ball, and he as a child running behind, laughing - his blond hair, longer, his blue eyes wide with the knowledge that inside that bright, clean house was a mom who hugged him, and not a mom sprawled on a decrepit sofa in a dark, roach infested room dying from a drug overdose.

One night he had confided in her that he had tried to kill himself, and that he had failed at that, too. When she said she was glad that he'd failed, he gave her a quizzical look but said nothing. He had also told her that he liked Beatrice, and that her voice reminded him of music and made him smile just listening to her. He said he didn't think she knew he was alive, and then blushed, all his shyness leaping to the fore.

As she watched him, in her mind's eye, the fantasy seemed to veer and disappear inside of him. It was her hope for him, she realized, but she also knew that it was a fantasy neither Dorsan nor she could ever realize. Rachel saw in his frightened, tired gaze the weight of his nightmare upbringing. That's why she had intervened, shaking her head NO to Tom about pursuing it further at that moment.

Dorsan truly believed that he was unqualified, and that's why he pursued and practiced with a passion that matched her own. In Michael Dorsan, she saw herself - always overcompensating for a perceived shortfall. She remembered the fear, the insecurity and the near physical pain when she tried to express even a portion of what had happened in her past. She remembered the awful shyness when she tried to tell people what she knew; shyness caused her brain to meltdown and her verbal skills had been narrowed to mere yes, no and maybe so. Rachel had worked diligently to be an expert communicator, and now she could talk to anybody. What most people didn't realize, however, was that it was still extremely uncomfortable and draining when she had to do presentations.

Tom had taken his cue from her and had opted instead to meet Dorsan in the morning, giving her time to explain her intervention if she could. But, how did she explain it without revealing more about her own sad past. She made a note to show up in the gym uninvited the next morning. Something about Michael Dorsan struck a nerve in her, and all those painful feelings had came flooding back.

"You missed the conversation we had about him." Tom was saying, "Tex discovered he was practicing in the middle of the night. He says this kid is phenomenal, and I don't see Tex waxing poetic too often." Tom stopped and looked at her. "You know him?"

"Yes, I know him well. But, there's a lot you don't know about Michael Dorsan," she began. "I've talked to him, and he is really too shy to be put in front of anyone. Just interacting with people is almost too much for him. He's been through an awful lot."

Tom's eyebrows rose, his forehead crinkling. "You know Mr. Dorsan?"

"Yes, we are friends of a sort. He practices Jujitsu and Tai Chi on the flight deck in the middle of the night. I'm a night owl, and he started showing me some Tai Chi and Qigong, and we got to talking."

"I see. Maybe, I should give up sleeping at night and wander around my ship."

"Night owls are solitary creatures, and Michael loves working at night. He reminds me of myself at his age."

Again, Tom looked surprised before he could hide it. A small smile played across his lips. "Do I have competition for your affections, Doctor Scott?"

"Yes, I love being a cougar and robbing the cradle, Chandler. Keep going on that line of thinking, and you might find that door locked when you arrive later on tonight."

They both laughed at that, and he hugged her. "I guess I'll need to learn a bit more about Mr. Michael Dorsan. I'll meet him in the morning, but I won't assign him to any teaching positions at this juncture, since in your judgment, that would be counter productive."

"Thank you, Tom," she replied softly.

"You are full of surprises, Rachel Scott. And, I would love to know why you think he's an earlier version of you. I don't see that at all."

"I'm further along in my journey. I've fought like hell to get to be the person you see before you."

"And you are quite a beauty," he held her at arms length then wrapped his arms around her again, hugging her close. "I will see you later, and we can talk more . . . or not." He reluctantly released her, and she gathered up her stuff to leave.

Tom pushed her up against the door, kissing her as she held on to her laptop and materials. He released her and watched as she left the wardroom. She was holding the laptop in front of her to hide her chest.

"Guess, you've still got it," Tom said to an empty room. Now, how to get into her quarters without being spotted.


	7. Chapter 7 - When I live my dream

Wish, and the storm will fade away  
Wish again, and you will stand before me while the sky will paint an overture  
And trees will play the rhythm of my dream  
When I live my dream, please be there to meet me  
— David Bowie (When I Live My Dream)

When Tom arrived at Rachel's stateroom, he first walked by it nonchalantly, looking first left then right to see if anyone was about. It was close to midnight, and the ship was relatively quiet. While he wasn't a night owl like Rachel, he could stay up long hours if motivated. And, she certainly motivated him.

On her door knob was a little pink ribbon. She certainly seemed to like pink, a fact he filed away for later use. He turned the door handle and pushed the door inwards, stepping in and closing it swiftly lest he be discovered. He had to admit that the discrete method made him all the more excited, as it was different than walking around giving orders and being seen. In this instance, not being seen was the objective, and that lent an air of mystery to the mix.

"Rachel?" he whispered into the darkness. There was no answer. "Rachel?" This time he said it a little louder. He weighed the rationale for turning on the light. If he had gone into the wrong set of quarters, turning the light on could prove very embarrassing, especially if it was one of the women's quarters. What could he say? He got lost trying to find his sleeping quarters? Did he sleep walk? Just doing random checks to see if things were ship shape. Instead, he stood in the darkness weighing the possibility that he was in the wrong place.

 _One last time._ "Rachel?" The silence continued and he really began to believe he had taken a wrong turn. Just as he was about to exit the quarters, he felt something touch him, no someone run her hand up and down his back. In the pitch black room, he jumped, then he felt someone wrap their arms around his mid section, pressing their body against his back. He relaxed.

"Why didn't you answer me?" he asked. "I almost left."

"Oh, I wouldn't have let you leave," she whispered rubbing her hands across his chest.

"That wasn't very funny, Rachel," he gently scolded her. He was really annoyed at her, but only momentarily.

She was quiet for moment. "I'm sorry," she whispered. There it was again, that sassiness that could drive him crazy followed by the sweetness of her whispered apology. "I was just teasing you a little. Payback for the wardroom."

"Why don't we call it even between us." Again, there was silence.

"Okay," she whispered finally. "So, what else do you want to do?" A number of ideas presented themselves to him all involving taking her clothes off, but he didn't say that. During their first time together, he wanted to be loving, gentle and gentlemanly.

"You think we can turn the light on? Blind groping is not my thing." He felt her move away then heard the click of a desk lamp. Low illumination revealed that she was only wearing an oversized, white t-shirt. It was one of the sexiest things he'd seen in a while, and he smiled appreciatively.

"Better?" she half smiled pinning him in place with her dark, intense gaze.

"Much better." He closed the short distance between them, picking her up off the floor and showering her with kisses, first on the mouth, then the neck and then pulling up the t-shirt to kiss and suckle her breasts. It was intense, fast and furious, nothing gentlemanly about it. "I've waited to be alone with you for hours. He continued kissing her neck, cupping her breasts and sucking hard on the nipples. After a moment he slowed down, trying to collect his wits and be gentlemanly. "Do you like that?"

"Yes. I didn't think this day would ever end either." Seeing that she was on the same page as he was, he went back to caressing her. His fingers roved up and down her body and she returned the exploration in kind. He realized she was relieving him of his shirt, work blue and easy to get rid of, then off came his undershirt, and then she started unbuckling his pants. Neither one of them said much, each one swept away in their wants and the need to have the other.

When she got him naked, he picked her up and headed towards the bed. As he placed her gently on top of her blanket, he noticed a small, grey stuffed animal peeking out at him from behind her pillow. It was a girly thing, and it surprised him that Rachel would have it. She noticed him looking at it and blushed, as if her secret love of this tiny stuffed bunny was uber embarrassing.

"What's its name?" Tom asked picking up the bunny adjusting its ears. He hoped that the action would let her know he was okay with it.

"Bunny," she said simply.

"Boy or girl?"

"Boy."

"His name is Bunny?" Tom clarified.

"Yes."

"Why Bunny? Why not Fred or Bill or Hare or Jackrabbit?" He grinned at her shaking the stuffed animal slightly.

"Because when I got him, I asked him his name, and he said it was Bunny. If he'd said Fred or Bill or Hare or Jackrabbit or Jackalope or Finley, I would have gone with it. But he said Bunny. As I recall, he was quite adamant about it."

Tom glanced at her again not sure if she was teasing him again or not, but her serious expression belied any underlying humor. "I see."

"You see? You standing next to my bed, naked, sexy and waving a stuffed animal. What exactly do you see?"

"Well, Bunny," he emphasized the name, "looks a bit long in the tooth, and he is in your bed. That's what I see," Tom ran his hand over the fur. He realized that it had slowed down their sexual momentum, but there would be time enough for amazing sex this evening. From her blush and embarrassment, he surmised that this stuffed animal meant more to her than simple, girly bed decorations, and it piqued his curiosity.

"Pardon?" She looked confused. "It doesn't have teeth."

Tom laughed in spite of himself. She looked slightly hurt and grabbed the bunny from his hand. "No, Rachel, I'm not laughing at you for that. It's what you said about the bunny having no teeth. Long in the tooth is an American colloquialism, an expression that means 'old'. That's all."

Confusion on her face gave way to happiness. She sat Bunny on the nightstand next to her single bed, looked at him for a long, silent moment then made up her mind, "My mom gave it to me. Bunny has been around the world with me."

Now, he understood. Rachel's mother had died unnecessarily because of her father's obsession with religion. It was probably the last thing she gave Rachel; in any case, it was dear to her because of the circumstances under which she had acquired it.

He climbed over her, situating himself on his side with Rachel on her back so that he could look down taking her full measure. Soft round breasts, flat abs, and lots of other niceties he wanted to partake of. The twin bed made for cramped and tight quarters, but that couldn't be helped. He had a double bed as Captain, but he thought it would be harder for her to make it to his quarters than he to hers.

"I like your t-shirts," she smiled up at him, and at first he was confused. Then the light went on. That t-shirt she'd been wearing was many sizes too big.

"How did you get my t-shirt?" he asked incredulous.

"You don't lock the door to your quarters, and I wanted to surprise you," she replied obviously satisfied with her plan. "Don't worry, Captain Chandler. No one saw me. I, too, can be very discrete."

"Did you take anything else from me?" he laughed. The idea that Rachel had snuck into his quarters to lift one of his shirts should have annoyed him. He was the Captain, and no one would dare enter his quarters without permission. If one of his people had done that, they would be on report not to mention having their head handed to them. _Maybe, that double bed was still a viable option._

This was Rachel Scott, though, and he was quickly coming to realize that she was as much a handful in personal matters as she was in scientific pursuits. If Rachel thought it was the right thing to do, she did it, even down to slipping into his quarters to surprise him.

In the last two days, Rachel had done nothing but surprise him. From her ragged edge declaration that he was driving her crazy to their fiery, confusing first kiss and her sudden retreat, Rachel had been a one of a kind whirlwind. He had learned how she did things without comment; how she had extended herself offering gentle kindness to one of his men during a period when she had little to no time for herself. The only way he knew about her relationship with Dorsan, was because she wanted to stop him from making a horrible mistake with the young man.

Another instance of amazement came when she was sitting on his lap in the wardroom where she went from confident to astonishingly vulnerable whispering a plea for mercy that gave him new insight into her inner turmoil and how well she hid it. Someone had hurt her deeply, and she pled for that not to happen between them. It spoke of the depth of her feelings for him, and he heard the terror and resignation in her voice at letting him in.

Rachel had likened herself to Michael Dorsan, another astonishing admission, because Dorsan was a young man who seemed a victim of cruelty beyond words, who by the age of 18 had already given up on the world. He could barely meet Tom's gaze and lived in the shadows on the Nathan James. That in and of itself was amazing. Tom thought he knew most of his people; he said they were a family. But somehow he had missed Dorsan who had successfully hid from everyone except Rachel. Somehow she had bridged his silence and knew more about him than anyone, but chose to keep his secrets to herself. Her statement that Dorsan had been through a lot was heavy with knowledge of his broken life, and Tom had felt that through her limited communication.

Even the world they lived in had hope, and Dorsan seemed to have none when she met him on the deck. Rachel had given Dorsan hope; Tom suspected she may have saved him from himself. _And you were like him 20 years ago?_

And then there was Bunny, a well worn, grey stuffed animal with heterochromia, one eye gold and one eye brown. She said her mother gave it to her; it was perhaps the last nice thing that transpired between them. It didn't look like much, but it meant the world to her. It lived in her bed; it lived in her dreams of a time when things were better and life still had meaning. At least that's what Tom thought.

Rachel walked to her own drumbeat, that was for sure, and Tom's admiration for her only grew as he learned more about her. He wanted to know everything about her, and he wanted to make her his forever. He knew that they're personal and intimate relationship had only just started, but these facts were already there in his mind.

"No, I didn't touch anything else in your room," Rachel was saying bringing his mind back to present, "and you can have the t-shirt back if you want, although I like it. It smells like you."

He leaned down and sniffed the shirt. "It's not dirty, is it?"

Rachel laughed, "Of course not. I like your smell, but I don't want to be overwhelmed by manly man scent. You smell like Navy, and so does your clean clothes."

Tom ran his fingers across her abdomen going from the breast line down to her groin and back up again. She shivered and giggled. He did it again, and this time she giggled and squirmed slightly. "Are you ticklish?"

Rachel giggled again, "No, not at all." She was clearly lying.

He ran his fingers across her stomach and over her right side adding a little more pressure to his touch. She squeaked and batted his hand away. "You are ticklish." He kissed her and tested his statement causing her to jump and push his hand away again.

"Stop it, and you better not do that again."

"Or what?" And then he did it again. She blushed and giggled. Giggling was also a new facet to Rachel; she was always serious, intense and distant. Now, he had her giggling and ticklish. _Will wonders never cease._

"You are never going to let me forget that, are you?"

He covered her mouth with his, this time forgoing the tickling motion. "Nope, not ever," he whispered returning his attentions to her mouth. Tom slowly worked his way down her neck, his fingers to stroke on of her breasts as his lips found her other one. He suckled the one breast while using his forefinger and thumb to roll her nipple on the other one. She began to moan softly arching her back slightly offering more to him. He loved making her moan knowing that in that moment he was giving her pleasure. His lips left her soft round breasts as one hand lazily continued to caress one. He kissed her lightly moving down the center of her, over the abdomen towards her groin.

Tom wanted to explore, kissing her gently gaging her reactions in the way she moaned and sighed from his attentions. He continued to make a small line of kisses until he reached her thighs, and he gently encouraged her to open her thighs. He looked at her face briefly seeing her eyes were closed and she was smiling. He let his fingers run over her soft mound, parting her folds like a flower opening to the sun.

Rachel jumped slightly as his tongue entered her, and she took a sharp breath when his tongue made contact with her clit. Slowly, he let his tongue swirl around it, using the tip of his tongue to dance over the sensitive surface. He knew he had hit the spot when her small protrusion began to swell.

Slowly, he used two, then three fingers to slide inside of her, and Rachel let out a moan. His tongue made little circular move over her clit as his fingers moved in and out of her. He kept stroking and swirling, going a little faster with each stroke. Then he wrapped his lips around her clit and sucked it hard, drawing it into his mouth and using his tongue to stroke fast.

Rachel let out a soft cry, pulling her pillow over her face to muffle it. He kept sucking on her clit, moving his fingers in and out until he felt a sudden rush of warm juice blanket his fingers.

Tom sucked a few more times on her clit, straightened up and before Rachel could catch her breath, he slid inside her pumping his own throbbing erection in a rapid, deep and hard motion. He went back to suckling her breasts, first one then the other, and groaned with pleasure as he reached his release. He felt her climax again, this one deep inside her, and he knew she was in heaven and totally his. He pulled out and rolled onto his back taking her with him so that she was laying on his chest. He took the blanket on her bed and tossed it over them holding her gently as their breath started to slow.

"I love you, Chandler," Rachel whispered.

"Rachel — " he began but she interrupted him before he could finish.

"I know that sounds silly since we've only been in this relationship for two days, but it's true. I don't expect you to love me in return."

"Rachel —" he began again but he only got her name out before he was interrupted again.

"I know, we just had great sex so you probably think that's what's making me say that."

He waited a moment to see if she was finished, and then he tried again, "Rachel —"

"I don't expect anything from you, and —"

Tom placed his hand across her mouth. "Rachel, would you shut up!"

She blinked, eyebrows raised and her dark gaze met his with a question.

"I love you, too," he said softly, "and, I think our relationship has been going for longer than two days. And yes, we just had great sex, but that isn't why I'm saying that." He removed his hand and kissed her on her forehead.

"Oh!" and then she grinned. "Well, I figured if you wanted a way out . . ."

"If I wanted a way out, I wouldn't have shown up tonight, and I wouldn't have kissed you this morning. Give me a little credit."

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I should have let you say something."

"Stop apologizing. You said you were like Michael Dorsan, and now you are already rolling the tire uphill and writing us off before anything happens. I suspect that is what Dorsan does."

"What tire? And who is Admiral Wilson, by the way?"

"Admiral Wilson was on the Admiralty Board before the Red Flu. And rolling the tire is a story for another time." Tom yawned closing his eyes. He was content; he did love Rachel and now that the awkwardness of first times was over, he could spend time making sweet, gentle love to her or if they were feisty or horny, fast, sexual romping. Either one sounded grand.

"You can't do that," she replied, "just start a story and then say we will discuss it at another time."

Tom opened his eyes and looked at her. "We need to get some sleep." He closed his eyes again.

"You're just going to leave me hanging?"

Tom opened his eyes again meeting her dark gaze, noting the slight frown and downturned lips. She really was going to insist on this now? "How about over breakfast," he offered the compromise and closed his eyes.

"If you just tell me, it will probably take less time than you trying not to tell me."

Tom sighed and opened his eyes again, "We need to get some sleep. I have to meet Dorsan of 0600." Tom closed his eyes and waited. There was quiet, and after a minute or so, he opened his eyes and looked at Rachel. She was laying there staring at him, a frown on her face.

 _Silent fuming_. "Oy, okay, you win", Tom waited for a response. "Rolling the tire is when you get a flat tire at the bottom of a hill. At the top of the hill is a garage. There's two ways to approach it. One way is to be pessimistic. So the pessimistic approach goes like this: a man gets a flat tire at the bottom of the hill. He sees a garage at the top of the hill, but he figures its getting late, so the garage is probably closed."

"Okay," Rachel replied.

"He starts rolling his tire up the hill, all the while thinking this is a waste of his time, because when he gets to the top, the garage will be closed. He keeps rolling the tire up the hill, and about 3/4 of the way up, he thinks the garage is definitely closed and he's wasting his time. He keeps going because he's come this far, and he makes it to the top of the hill. The lights in the garage are on, but he's convinced the garage is closed."

"Even though the lights are on?"

"Yes, even with the lights on. He is totally convinced. So, he rolls the tire over to the door of the garage all the while convinced that it's closed. Now he's angry because he's just wasted all of his time rolling this tire. He gets to the door, knocks and the mechanic comes to the door, opens it and says: 'Can I help you?" By this point, the man is so angry that he just drops the flat tire and walks away. That's rolling the tire. If you automatically think that things are going to be horrible, you make it a self-fulfilling prophecy."

"I see."

"That's what you were doing with your comments. You had already decided that I didn't love you, before I told you anything."

"Thank you," Rachel said. "I know you didn't want to get into that, but I thought you were going to say something else."

"What did you think I was going to say?" Tom asked.

"Oh, I don't know, but not a story about positive, negative and neutral thinking."

Tom chuckled, "I have the feeling you roll that tire uphill a lot. I would also like to know what you thought I was going to say, but only when you're ready to tell me."

Rachel didn't say anything, and he let it drop. Just when he was about to nod off, she spoke again, this time very softly.

"I guess I'll have to work on that."

"We will work on it together, love. Okay?"

He felt her lips move on his chest into a smile, and then she kissed his chest. "Okay."

"I might have to tickle you every time you roll that tire," he said after a pause. "Just to remind you about that bad habit."

"Don't you dare, Chandler."


	8. Chapter 8 - See These Eyes So Green

...

See these eyes so green  
I can stare for a thousand years  
Colder than the moon  
It's been so long  
And I've been putting out fire  
With gasoline  
\- David Bowie (Cat People)

0500 hours came too soon as far as Tom Chandler was concerned. His watch alarm went off rousing him from a sound sleep. At first he was confused about where he was, but feeling another warm body in the same bed brought the beautiful memory of last night right back to him. He smiled. It had only been five hours since he and Rachel made love, but it seemed like it had just happened. He was spooned around her, her back to his chest, his arm draped over her side in the twin bed they shared. It was cramped, but right now that tight fit made for a really pleasant sleep.

Tom ran his hand gently across Rachel's cheek, caressing her and willing her to wake up. He felt like a kid at Christmas, and he wanted a repeat of last night. But time was not on his side, because he had a meeting with Dorsan in an hour. He needed to shower and change into workout clothes. He didn't want to arrive smelling like vanilla and old sex, so he leaned over and kissed her cheek and was rewarded with a sigh.

Untangling himself from her, he carefully climbed out of the warmth and closeness they shared, putting the blanket back on her. Tom wished he could stay longer, but that wouldn't work out in any case, not with the crew waking up in an hour or so. He leaned down and kissed her on the cheek again and turned to find his clothes. At the last moment, he turned back, grabbed Bunny from the nightstand and placed him under the covers with her.

"Keep my baby company, Bunny, " he whispered exiting the sleeping area. In the main area, he found everything he had been wearing except one black, Navy issue sock. He peeped under things and around things, but the sock had vanished. He didn't have time to hunt for it, so he pulled on his boots and prepared to exit. _Wonder if Rachel took my sock? Nah, that's ridiculous. Why would she take one sock?_

Tom opened the door a slit and looked down the corridor. Empty. He stood still listening for voices and footfalls. There were none, so he opened the door wider and slipped out into the hallway. Breathing a sigh of relief, he walked swiftly down the corridor towards his own quarters.

Tom didn't see Michael Dorsan step out of the shadows and walk quickly in the other direction. Getting from Engineering to the enlisted mens bunks passed right past the temporary guest quarters set up when the Nathan James had taken on the mixed bag of passengers fleeing from the Red Flu.

Dorsan had heard the door open, which surprised him at this hour. He stepped into the alcove to be safe, because he didn't want to meet anyone and have to engage in small talk. Better to just let them pass not seeing him. Captain Chandler stepped out into the corridor looking first in the opposite direction from where Dorsan was standing. He was pretty sure the quarters belonged to Doctor Scott, and he was equally sure that the Captain didn't want anyone to see him leaving her quarters at five in the morning.

Discretion being the better part of valor, Dorsan backed further into the alcove into the shadows right before the Captain marched by. Not being seen was a talent of his, and in this situation, it had proved to be a lifesaver. Dorsan waited a few moments, before he stepped out of the alcove and continued on his way.

...

"Why don't we try some basic moves, so I can see what you know how to do." Tom was frustrated and his tone was beginning to reflect it. He realized this was going to be harder than he thought with young Dorsan. Tom had turned up in sweats and a teeshirt ready to go through some martial arts training, and perhaps, get his shadow seaman to open up with him the way he did with Rachel. That plan was proving more difficult than he first anticipated, because Dorsan was a clam.

"Sir, I'm not qualified to do this," Dorsan stated for the fifth time. Tom realized Dorsan's whole stance and demeanor screamed that he didn't want to do this, that he wanted to be anywhere else but in the gym.

Tom decided to try direct action. "Block this punch," he said suddenly and punched at him directly. Dorsan deflected the punch easily but said nothing. He also continued to stare everywhere but at Tom. Tom threw another punch, which Dorsan again deflected. Tom then threw two punches, one from each hand, and on the second punch, Dorsan wrapped his small hand around Tom's wrists, stepping sideways, using Tom's weight and build against him. Tom landed on the mat with a thump, surprised. The maneuver happened so quickly that Tom was at a loss as to how the young seaman had accomplished it. He looked up at Dorsan who was standing in the same position as before.

"I don't want to hurt you, Sir," Dorsan said quietly.

 _After 30 minutes of agonizing silence, maybe he was getting somewhere._ "You're not going to hurt me, Michael." Tom decided to switch to his first name hoping that would break down a barrier or two in him.

"I understand you do fighting forms and also Tai Chi? Show me a form," Tom tried to keep the desperation and frustration out of his voice. "Just one, or show me how you did that last maneuver."

Dorsan sighed deciding on doing a form rather than throwing his captain to the floor again. He started moving slowly rolling from one foot to the other in a fluid motion that encompassed a number of very difficult movements all strung together in a silent dance. It went on for about three minutes and then Dorsan stopped, stood at attention and waited.

"What do you call that?" Tom asked.

"It is my own form, a combination of Chu style Yang form Short and Guangbo which is a mixture of Yang, Chen, Wu and Qigong."

"Can you teach me to do that?" Tom asked.

"No, Sir."

More silence. After a minute with nothing else forthcoming, Tom walked away from Dorsan, running his hands through his hair in frustration. _What the hell happened to this kid to make him like this?_ He remembered Rachel's admonition to take it easy; he's been through a lot.

"I'm sorry to disappoint you, Sir." Dorsan was almost whispering.

Tom groaned inwardly. How could he get through to this kid? He counted to 10 slowly and turned back around. The gym was empty. Dorsan was gone, and Tom was alone. Well, he hadn't issued an order for him to stay put, but Tom was really surprised that Dorsan had left, no fled the gym as soon as he could without a word. It was an informal meeting, but Tom's level of frustration only increased in the wake of Dorsan's flight. He also began to realize why Rachel had said go easy.

"He can't be that afraid of me," Tom said to himself. _Great, now I'm talking to himself._ He looked at his watch. It was 0645, and he had just spent one of the most vexing 45 minutes of his life, trying to help somebody who was clearly terrified of him to the point of near silent immobility. _Well, Dorsan overcame that last part; he must have ran at top speed to get out of the gym that fast._

"If you think we're finished, Mr. Dorsan, think again," Tom said aloud. This was going to be a real challenge, but challenges only made him more resolute. He didn't like to lose especially when it came to his people. The fact that Dorsan had physically fled spoke volumes about the depth of his need to be invisible. Tom needed to talk to Rachel and find out more about young Dorsan before he tried this again."You are going to gain some confidence and begin to feel like a part of the Nathan James family if I have to drag you kicking and screaming all the way."

Tom decided to lift some weights for about 20 minutes to reduce his own stress level. Dorsan's level of fear was infectious; after he had fled the gym, Tom realized he was stressed just from the encounter. Pushing against silence is hard; pushing against terror is even worse. He did a number of reps until he felt better, and figured he would go back and get ready for his day. He had meetings with both Slattery and Jeter scheduled, and he wanted to meet with Rachel, although that meeting would be less business and more personal. He missed her. Already. _God, you can't be this far gone already, man._

Tom left the gym heading back to his quarters. When he opened his door, he almost stepped on a small note that had been slipped under it. It was from Michael Dorsan.

Sir,  
I am totally unqualified to teach you anything. I am sorry I wasted your time and Mr. Nolan's time. Please excuse any inconvenience this morning may have caused.  
Seaman Michael Dorsan

 _Wow, this kid will go to any length to prove that he's worthless._ But, worthless or not Tex Nolan had sent Dorsan to Tom, Rachel had befriended and advocated for him, and those facts alone told him that Dorsan was anything but worthless. In addition, what little Tom saw this morning intrigued him as well, but Dorsan's lack of confidence tugged at his heart. No one should feel so bad about themselves that they can't even look you in the eye. Nobody had the right to squash someone so badly that they thought they were nothing, less than nothing.

From his observation of Michael Dorsan this morning, it seemed that his only haven was doing martial arts. When Dorsan started doing that form, a tranquility came across his face that Tom hadn't seen at any other time during their interactions. His movements were similar to a dancer with years of muscle memory. Those movements were an integral part of his being, and you don't get that level of proficiency without hours and hours of practice. If he knew Jujitsu and Karate to that level, he was indeed an asset.

And, even if all that turned out to be for naught, Tom was now committed to helping Michael Dorsan gain some self esteem. Commander Garnett said that he was a very hard worker, and that he wanted to make something of his life. Red Flu or not, Tom felt that all of his people deserved the chance, and they should never be held back by their past. The fact that he had missed this kid in the wash of seaman made Tom all the more committed to making sure that the young people under his command had the chance to shine. It started with the weakest link, and Dorsan certainly qualified for that.

 _I don't want to hurt you, Sir._ That's what Dorsan had said to him, after maneuvering him onto the mat with no difficulty. He had said it with the certainty of someone who had no doubt in his martial arts abilities. But he stated it like it was a random fact, and that he had no part in making it so. And, it didn't carry over to the rest of him. He was small just making the height requirements of the Navy. Jujitsu and martial Tai Chi is practiced to mastery by some pretty small people. Tom knew a little about the Chen style and remember that it was used by the Imperial guards who guarded the emperor in ancient China. Those guys were lethal, and they were purported to be small men like Dorsan. If he was as proficient as Tom suspected, he had the potential to be a really good officer one day.

Tom changed into his work blues continuing to ponder the enigma that was Michael Dorsan. His slight build, perpetually downcast expression and unassuming appearance would make you think he was just another of the huddled masses trying to get by. But, on the rare occasion that their gaze had met this morning, Tom saw fear but also intelligence in his eyes. He also realized that his first assessment that Dorsan's eyes were blue wasn't true either. It was a small detail, but it highlighted for him how little he had seen Dorsan, how little the young man looked him in the eye. _He's a ghost. Well, that's gotta change._

Dorsan was blessed with pale green eyes that reminded Tom of a child who cried a lot and washed out the deeper hue of green. It was the odd color that caught his attention; they could be grey in the right light, and it gave Dorsan the strange appearance that he could look right through you. Their gaze exchange lasted only a few seconds, and then Dorsan's gaze returned to the somewhere in the back of his Captain.

Tom had to acknowledge another oddity; when Dorsan spoke, he sounded like he was talking into a radio microphone and not addressing another human being. With the recitation of the type of form he was doing, it was like he was delivering information to the room, and not interacting with the people in that space. He spoke softly so that the information was delivered to anyone within earshot who chose to listen with no expectation of a response.

Tom headed towards his wardroom, more than ready to have a cup of coffee and some breakfast, and to catch up with both Tex and Rachel to talk about Dorsan. First, Tom wanted to rib Tex about sending the kid back straightway without waiting to consult him. Tom figured he'd done that to be funny or to rescue Rachel, because Tex had seen Tom's face right before he departed the previous evening. It had slowed things down between Rachel and him, but the interruption hadn't stopped the runaway train that was their relationship.

As he walked down the corridor, he passed some of the other people he commanded: Petty Officer James Johnson, Lt. Kara Foster, Ensign Tracy Smitrovich and others. They were moving towards breakfast, laughing and talking about a variety of things. They saluted, smiled, said 'Good Morning, Sir,' speeding along. At the same time he knew that Michael Dorsan was slipping into his bunk and going to sleep — not seen, not heard.

He knew people had to work night shift, but it was usually on rotation. According to the Commander Garnett, Dorsan had volunteered for that shift, and had been working it for the past 10 months. He would speak to Garnett about changing his shift, but only after talking with Rachel. In his quest to get Seaman Dorsan to de-cloak and join in, he didn't want to push the young man over the edge. _He's been through a lot._ Tom heard Rachel's voice in his mind.

Tom opened the door to his wardroom, the smell of coffee wafting out into the hallway as he stepped in. Tex was sitting at the table drinking a cup of coffee, reading a paperback book. "Howdy, Commodore," he said as Tom crossed the divide to get his mug from the mug organizer. He took the time to pour a cup of coffee before responding.

"Howdy yourself, " he smiled. In spite of his frustration with Dorsan, it was a howdy kind of morning. Tex regarded him for a moment.

"You look like the cat who ate the canary. What's up in Navy-land?"

"Nothing much," Tom responded feigning nonchalance. Did it show that the woman he loved felt the same way? Or was it the afterglow of an evening of amazing lovemaking that was showing through? Or maybe, it was simply Tex being Tex? He went with the last option, and sat down across from him. It was still early, but the ship was coming alive and the wardroom would soon be full of his officers eating and getting ready for the day. However, right now, it was quiet.

"How was it with Doctor Scott," Tex asked taking a swig of his coffee.

 _What?! How did he find out? I can't be that transparent. Was he a mind reader?_ Tom felt exposed like he had walked into the wardroom with his fly open. Tex was a great judge of character, and he had a knack for intuiting things, but how could he know that they had spent the night together. "Uh, it went fine?" He knew his fair skin had taken on a reddish hue, but there was no helping that now. He did his best to cover his astonished then guilty look although he felt like he'd failed miserably.

"She looked like she had a lot to discuss," Tex continued apparently oblivious to Tom's consternation. _Or was he?_ He had a distinctive smirk on his face, although he didn't say anything about Tom's shocked behavior. This was the second time in as many days as Tom had been caught totally off guard, first with Rachel and now with Tex. He got up to put sugar in his coffee, taking the time his back was turned to regain his composure.

"What did she want to bend your ear about, Commodore?" Tex asked. Tom knew that Tex felt something was up. _He has a sixth sense, which is why he's asking me questions._ Nothing was ever innocent banter with Tex when it came to Rachel. Probably because he had his own feelings for her, and he wasn't completely sure if her heart lay elsewhere.

"Uh, some of the dispersal methods she's proposing won't work in the wide world." Tom came back to the table, stirring in the sugar into the black coffee.

"And, she came to talk to you about that?" Tex smiled widely. "Did she want your ideas about a better way disperse the cure?"

"No, she also wanted to know the distance the Nathan James could cover to distribute the cure manually," Tom countered. It sounded good, logical; it would be something she would ask him, although she hadn't asked him that yet. "She showed me models of distribution by conventional methods: needles, orally . . . Things like that. And, she has this idea she's been toying with that might get it distributed faster."

Tom had only a very vague idea about that last part as he had come in on the tail end of a tense discussion between Rachel and Sorenson a couple days back. After Sorenson had been taken away, he had tried to elicit more details, but she had been angrier than a wet cat, so he hadn't pressed the issue.

"I see," Tex replied. "Sounds like things are moving along."

 _Yes, they are_ , Tom thought, _moving along quite nicely_. Before his testosterone started boiling and parts of his anatomy had another rise to glory, he decided to change the subject. "Listen, Tex, I met with Michael Dorsan last night, and we got together right before I came here. He is an odd duck, isn't he?"

"Well, that's a nice way of putting it. He almost ripped my head off last night when I told him that I'd brought him to your attention. He was angry, but more than anything else, he was frightened. It was almost like a vampire being forced into the sunshine."

"I met with him this morning, because last night, he was adamant that he couldn't help me and that he was incompetent." Tom paused wondering if he should bring up the Rachel factor. He decided to hold off on that part until he had a chance to talk to her. "I got together with him this morning in the gym just to workout a little and see what he could do, and he was so terrified, he was almost immobile. He did show me a form he said that he created himself, and what I saw of it was remarkable. And, when I threw a couple of punches at him, he easily defended himself. He not only deflected the punches, but I wound up on the mat as a result of a Jujitsu maneuver he did."

"I'm telling' ya Commodore, he is good. He just doesn't think he is any good. His shyness is like a wall between him and the rest of the world. And, last night you would have thought I told him to jump into a raging inferno. I'm telling you, he acted like a vampire about to be forced into the sunlight."

The door to the wardroom opened as Tom was about to reply, and Rachel stormed in. Tom's smile faded as she glared from Tex to Tom, and Tom could swear he saw smoke coming out of her ears. Tex gave her a half smile that also faded quickly.

"I hope you two are happy," she began. "I've just spent the last half hour keeping your star martial artist from jumping off the side of this damned boat." She zeroed in on Tex, "Why couldn't you just leave him be."

"I, uh, well, he's a good asset." Tex defended.

"He's not an asset. He's a human being with feelings. And what gives you the right to force him into the limelight. He's been through enough!" _There was that statement again. He's been through enough._ Tom needed to get information that wasn't in Dorsan's Navy file, because it read like a standard, albeit boring retelling of him getting through boot camp and graduating at the top of his class. The discussion he need to have with Rachel concerned what went on behind those intelligent, pale green eyes. And, judging from Rachel's reaction, that discussion needed to happen sooner rather than later.

"This is a ship, not a boat," Tom attempted to distract her to derail her ranting. It failed miserably as she looked at him for a nanosecond, then ignored his remark and continued. "Why didn't you wait on me?"


	9. Chapter 9 - Let's Spend The Night Togeth

...

Let's spend the night together  
Now I need you more than ever  
Let's spend the night together now  
— David Bowie (Let's Spend The Night Together)

"Wait, now hold on," Tex was saying, half smiling, half frowning. Tom knew how he felt. He knew had crossed some invisible line somewhere gauging Dorsan's reaction, but he was unprepared for her wrath. Clearly, she cared for Dorsan, and she was prepared to defend him.

Rachel turned on Tom cutting off Tex's protestations. "And you, I told you to go easy. You have no idea what this kid has been through. He has only had enough to eat since he got into the Navy, and he never had a bed before."

Tom held up his hands in a conciliatory manner imitating Tex, "Hold on, Rachel. I did go easy, and I wanted to talk to you before I did anything else. I didn't know anything about —"

"That's right," she cut him off. "You didn't know, and it's my fault." Rachel's sudden turn was almost as jarring as her original rant. She began to wind down quickly, "I didn't wake up in time. I was going to go …. meet you at the gym. I overslept because of everything that happened between —"

"I'm sorry, Rachel," Tom cut her off before she gave too much away, and he purposely didn't answer Tex, a point he would need to cover later on. "I should have waited for you or rescheduled. If he's that unstable, I don't understand how he got into the Navy."

"What happened between you two?" Tex filled in the last word himself.

"Nothing between us, Tex," Tom quickly countered, "between last night and this morning." Talk about thinking fast on your feet. He hadn't gone to Annapolis for nothing.

Rachel sighed and sat down. "He's not unstable. It's a long, sad story, and I don't want to get into it right now."

"I think now might be the time to get into it, Rachel," Tom put in.

"Well, I'm sure a determined enough person can get through boot camp," Tex interjected. "I mean, Dorsan is very smart, and from what little I know about him, he is determined to better himself."

"I looked at his file last night. He barely made the minimum height and weight requirements, although by the end of boot camp, he seems to have gained weight and put on a couple inches. He was 17 years old when he originally joined, and he apparently got the State of Illinois' permission. He was an emancipated minor, I think."

Tom felt like they were having three different conversations simultaneously — Tex was talking about gaming bootcamp; Rachel defending the sanity of Dorsan; and, he was quoting the seaman's file. Under other circumstances, it might be funny, but right now Tom needed to get both Tex and Rachel on the same page.

Rachel avoided looking at Tom, which made him uncomfortable, but he plowed forward, "Now might be a good time to have that talk. Where is Mr. Dorsan?" Tom kept his voice steady. Her anger was tangible as was her sadness. She had overslept, because the two of them had spent the night together. She hadn't told him that she planned to show up in the gym, or he would have woke her up. It was as much his fault as it was hers.

"I sent him to bed. He worked all night, then met with you, then came and talked to me," Tex looked confused, and Tom couldn't tell him much more without giving away the fact that Rachel knew Dorsan well. That fact had to come from Rachel.

"Wait, why did he come talk to you?" Tex was clearly confused. "Are you two friends?"

"Yes," The silence in the room stretched out to an uncomfortable length. Tex rubbed his beard thoughtfully. Tom looked at Rachel, and Rachel stared at across the table at nothing. After a long pause, Tex tried again.

"So, how did you two become friends?" Tex asked trying to elicit more information. "I'm sorry about bringing this kid up. I had no idea he was unstable or that it would cause so much drama."

"He's not unstable," Rachel snapped. She turned to Tom and repeated it. "He's just been through a lot. He's a survivor. He's scared, but he's got heart." Rachel's gaze met Tom's questioning one for a moment, and then she looked away. In those few moments, he saw the fear and was that guilt he saw in her eyes? They had just spent an incredible night together, and now she couldn't even look at him.

It was another surprising turn, Rachel was not just defending Dorsan, she was protecting him, and as Tom watched her reactions, he realized she was hiding something, something about Dorsan. "Okay, he's not unstable."

Rachel was sitting between Tom and Tex. Tom could feel the tension; it was palpable.

"Want some tea?" Tex said suddenly getting to his feet. He went over to the counter and made himself busy without waiting for a response. Tom reached out and touched Rachel lightly on the top of her hand, and gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile. She looked at him but didn't return his smile.

"I just don't want you to get the wrong impression. He is not unstable; he's just so used to being invisible, and this is going to be very hard for him."

"How did he get through boot camp?" Tom asked. "You are forced into being part of a team there. I mean by the second week, you have to work together as a team in order to pass. If he's such an introvert, how did he make it?"

"I don't know how he did it, but he did," Rachel said. "That's what I mean about having heart. He told me he was the shortest, smallest guy there, but he had great strength from all that martial arts training, and that stood him in good sted. I just don't want you to get the wrong impression."

"I'm not getting the wrong impression, Rachel," Tom replied as Tex delivered her tea. "I'm confused, and I can't help him if I"m in the dark about what is making him act this way."

Rachel took a sip from the cup and wrinkled her nose, "Ugh, Lipton." Tex looked apologetic, but Tom saw the ruse for what it was. She was stalling. "Do you have cream?"

Tex got up again to retrieve the cream. Only Rachel could have Tex wrapped around her little finger. Tom would talk to her later when they were alone. He hoped that she was hiding something because of Tex.

"You did come in here all spit and fire about him," Tex said, "So, what's the scoop on him?"

"You guys need to know the level of trauma in Dorsan's life to understand why he's invisible," she said after Tex had reclaimed his seat.

Rachel took a deep breath. "You know he was in the foster care system. What you don't know is that the foster family that he lived with was horrible. Half of the children in that foster home died from starvation and abuse. This foster family was so bad that it made the national news. I'm not you sure you know the name Andropov. They used to keep kids chained outside in a dog house, beat them senseless and he got his share. You should see the marks on his body; I'm sure the Navy doctor did. He was also used to going without food; he got fed once every couple days, if he was lucky. These people were straight out of the dark ages. Not being seen, being strong and being quick was what made survivors and victims. The victims died, and the survivors learned to fade into the background."

"Jesus," Tex said whistling softly. "No wonder he hides."

"That's only part of it. He was punished beyond beatings that bordered on torture, like having him kneel on uncooked rice for hours, leaving him outside in the winter with no clothes on until he was almost frozen. Do you know what that does to a kid?"

Tom was stunned. He couldn't comprehend something like that happening to his son. Sam had been traumatized at the death of his mom, but he had his sister, grandfather and him to lean on. And there wasn't even a hint of torture; Tom wouldn't stand for anyone hurting his son like that in any way. "Dorsan has no one except the Navy is what you're telling me."

"When I say he has heart, I mean it. He ran away when he was 12 and lived on the streets. And after about a year, he was taken in by a man who promised him that things would be better. He was a child pimp who raped him to get him ready for other pedophiles who passed him around. He finally found an emergency shelter for boys where he had to fight for his life every day, and he considered that place a whole lot better than the sex slave ring he escaped from. The Navy is the first stable home he's been in since his drug addicted mother died when he was eight." Rachel's eyes glistened, tears threatening to overflow. She took another deep breath. "And, that's the shortened version. I have told you only the high points."

"Wow!" Tom said running his hand through his silver-blond hair. "That explains a lot."

"He's not unstable. He's a survivor," Rachel said. "He should have died, and many of the kids he knew in that hell hole of a foster home didn't survive. Instead, he got out. He survived the pedophiles, the crazies and the drug addicts. Yes, he might be shy, painfully so, and a little strange, but you have to ask yourself, how good would you be after all that?"

"I get it, darlin'" Tex agreed. "We go easy."

"Let him calm down," Rachel continued, "then we can get together with him. He trusts me, but that's taken a long time. I believe I can get him to trust you, but it's going to take time. He likes you already Tex; he told me that. He thinks you have a really odd sense of humor."

"And me?" Tom asked.

"He likes you, too. No, that's not right," Rachel paused thinking. "He admires you. That's a better way of putting it. He wanted to go to the Naval Academy, but he says he has no chance now that the world has ended. So, yes, he admires both you and Mike."

"You would never know that from this morning," It was Tom's turn to look thoughtful. "If he likes me and admires me, why is he so scared of me?" Rachel's expression cascaded from fear, to guilt to neutral.

"I don't know. Maybe, because you're the authority on this ship," Rachel looked away again as she replied. Everyone has a tell when they're lying, and he was beginning to think that faraway gaze she adopted was her tell. She knew exactly why Dorsan was so afraid of him, but she wasn't telling. She was protecting Dorsan from him. _Now, what did she know that made her lie when lying wasn't in her nature?_ He would save that discussion for later when they were alone, because there was a chance she was lying because Tex was there.

He got his GED while he was in boot camp, because he never went to school regularly.

"By the way, he speaks fluent Russian and passable Spanish."

"You're kidding," Tom said. "Where did he learn that?"

"The foster family was Russian. It was a matter of survival. The Spanish came from the boys shelter; again, survival learning."

"Surprise after surprise. This has been quite a few days," Tom said rubbing his eyes, closing them briefly. Rachel was staring at him when he opened them again, but looked away again when he held her gaze. Tex gave him a strange look, and Tom was sure he was wondering what else 'strange' had happened in the past couple days besides Michael Dorsan.

Tom also wondered again why Rachel likened herself to Dorsan. After the story she'd just shared, he wondered what horrors were dwelling in her past that was on the level of what she'd just described about the young seaman. Instead of going down that road, Tom decided to take go different tact.

"Let's let things calm down and then set up a meeting, say on Thursday morning at 0600 in the gym?"

"Why don't we wait and see where we are on Wednesday night?" Rachel countered. Both Tom and Tex shook their heads in the affirmative.

Tex stretched finishing his coffee. "Well, guys, as much as I would like to sit here and keep talking about Seaman Dorsan, I do have some things I'd like to get accomplished this morning. He smiled at the two of them, rising and picking up his cup to take with him. Tom got the distinct impression that he was leaving to give them time together. _Had he figured out that they were together from one unguarded look?_ It would be just like Tex to come to the right conclusion on relatively few facts. Or maybe, the two of them hadn't been as discrete as they thought. _Nah, he probably did have something to do, even though he didn't mention what that 'something' was._

As the door swished shut behind Tex, Rachel turned to Tom. "I'm sorry I came on so strong," she began, but he held up his hand to stop her.

"No need," he replied. "I now have a better understanding of what we are dealing with."

"Thanks," Rachel took another sip of the tea. "Lipton tea is just terrible, and all this caffeine will have me climbing the walls soon."

"Are you still angry with me?" Tom asked quietly. He continued to sit a safe distance from her.

Rachel looked surprised then amused, "No, I wasn't angry exactly."

"I guess that steam coming out of your ears was just a holdover from your hot shower," Tom teased, "and not from the fiery fury emanating from your soul?"

"Fiery fury emanating from my soul?"

"Best I could do at this time in the morning."

"I thought all you Navy types were early risers," Rachel smirked, "you know, up before dawn, getting more done before 5am and all that."

"That's the Marines. While we are generally up early as well, it's usually around 0700 and not before dawn," Tom lowered his voice, "I also had an amazing time last night with someone, all while balancing on a twin bed after wrestling a cherished stuffed animal on to the nightstand. I would say that made me tired."

"Long in the tooth?" Rachel grinned at him trying out the phrase she'd learned last night and getting it totally wrong.

"No, I'm not old just tired," Tom laughed. "Think bone weary."

"Okay. I didn't know you tired so easily, and Bunny moved willingly." The cheeky Rachel had returned.

"I wasn't the only one who was tired, as I recall," he countered. "I left you sleeping quite contentedly a few hours back. And, you did say you intended to wake up to meet us in the gym. So, I guess we were both not ready for prime time."

"I guess."

"Rachel," Tom edged into his next statement, not sure what reaction he'd get, "what are you not telling me about Michael Dorsan."

Silence. A sigh. More silence.

"Anything you tell me is between us." Tom waited. Like the explanation about her stuffed animal, he hoped that his patience would pay off with more clarification, something she wasn't willing to reveal in front of Tex but would say to him alone.

"There is nothing more worth mentioning at this juncture," she said after a long pause.

"So, there is something beyond what you've already said," Tom pressed.

"Yes and no. It's not important now in this brand new world of ours," Rachel looked at him half smiling, "Trust me, it is nothing that's a game changer, and I gave him my word that I wouldn't talk about it. I am a woman of my word."

"Okay," Tom relented. Although he wanted to know what secret the two of them shared, he wouldn't push it. Better to have it come voluntarily than pressing her to acquiescence. Rachel had said it was not important so he'd have to trust her judgment. "You will tell me sometime?"

"Maybe, Michael will tell you himself," she replied grabbing her mug and heading for the door. "I have to get some better tea," Clearly, she wanted to change the subject, but Tom didn't want her to leave on that note.

"Where are you going?" Tom got up and followed catching her before she opened the door, "No kiss good morning? Just tear my head off and the leave to find a better beverage?" Rachel turned to face him, backing up towards the door. He reached around her and locked it so they wouldn't be disturbed.

"I was going to get my tea from my quarters where I have my stash," Rachel replied sweetly. Then, I was going to my lab, but first I was going to come back here and kiss you good morning."

"Oh really?" Tom grinned.

"Yes. I figured it might be my best chance of the morning. Then, I go to work, and you show up to have lunch with me in the lab. We can discuss science stuff, because I know how much you love that." Again, there was that hint of humor. He did love to listen to her talk about her work, although general science discussions could prove confusing when she rattled off equations and non-anecdotal references. He liked to hear about how science affected people, and not how equations impacted theorems. "And, then we can work all afternoon, and get together for dinner again."

"You've got this all figured out, do you?"

'Yes, of course," Rachel replied with that English accent he loved. There was just something about her accent that made all of her words, even ones thrown in anger, sound that much better. "I figure tomorrow, you can plan our day."

"Oh really," he laughed in spite of himself, "just like that."

"Just like that."

"How about an itinerary change, Doctor. I kiss you now a whole lot." He leaned in and kissed her, backing her up to the door. Tom couldn't stop the feelings that swelled in him simply by looking at her sweet countenance. He liked to think of himself as all logic and cool detachment when it came to life onboard his ship, but when he touched Rachel something not only stirred in him but overtook his thinking. He kept getting lost in her dark gaze, wanting only to love her, hold her and be with her totally.

They came up for air, both smiling at each other trying not to laugh.

"Then, I kiss you some more," he kissed her again passion rising to the fore. He never could get enough of her. They say love makes you crazy, and if that was true, he certainly qualified for the loony bin. On day 91 of their new relationship when hormones ceased to be a factor, he hoped to be just as crazy, and 10 years from now — the same, and on and on forever.

It was clear that since they'd crossed over that line, all he could do was ride the roller coaster of his feelings for her. Nothing had prepared him for the level of passion he felt. When he was in her presence, the rest of the world became a blur, unimportant and forgettable easily banished to the far recesses of his mind.

They needed to talk about his plan to deal with his kids, the new President and the amount of time they'd need to wait in order to make this whole thing official. Right now, though, the only thing that mattered to him was kissing her more, touching her more, exploring, kissing her mouth, her stomach, her breasts. Their coming together was as if this was their first passionate kiss. The logical gave way to the loving; his idea for an orderly transition blown to shreds by their passion. _We can talk later_.

When there was a knock at the door, they separated, she preparing to leave and he returning to his seat at the head of the table in the wardroom. Again, there was a bulge in his pants, and he had to pull his chair in to cover it. He picked up a report he hadn't even started reading, and tried to look at it. The words were a muddle; his mind was mush. He supposed he'd need to get used to that where Rachel was concerned.

She smiled before unlocking the door and exiting, passing Commander Slattery on her way out. "I'll be in my lab." She gave Slattery a cheerful smile and good morning, disappearing down the corridor to retrieve her tea stash and head on to work.

Tom pivoted quickly to discussing ship's business with his XO, hoping that Mike didn't recognize the telltale signs of passion: dilated eyes, reddish cheeks, a slight smile gracing his lips. He started talking to Mike, all business and professionalism now. He vowed not to think about her while he worked. Mike Slattery was a close friend, and like Tex, he could read Tom really well when it came to his feelings. And, Tom was determined not to give Mike any more reading material than was necessary, at least not yet.

"Good morning, Captain," Slattery poured himself a cup of coffee. "The doc is up early, or has she not gone to sleep yet." It was no secret that Doctor Scott worked odd hours, and at times when things were on the ragged edge of failure, she didn't sleep at all. That wasn't the case this morning, though, and he told Mike as much before they turned the conversation to the departments that needed his attention and guidance. With the introduction of work, his passion receded until his mind and anatomy was ready to address more mundane issues.

At the top of the list was repairs being made on the propulsion motor drives. His engineering team was working double time to clear what they called a metal debris clog in one of the engine's lube oil filters. It wasn't a major problem, but it was a pain to fix. Slattery had pulled some blueprints of the section in question, which they started going over. The door opened and they were joined by his engineering chief, Andrea Garnett and Master Chief Jeter. It was going to be another normal day on the Nathan James, Tom noted to himself.

As far as most of the crew was concerned, nothing had changed. But two people onboard knew things were very different, and they felt that transformation. Tom couldn't help but wonder where this new path was taking them. He knew that things like love couldn't be seen, let alone touched. It must be felt with the heart. He also knew that while you can't change the direction of the wind, you can adjust your sails to go with it. Rachel was like the wind; he was the sails that adjusted to her. And, she was so beautiful, loving and full of quiet humor; it radiated out from her, surrounded her and now it surrounded him.

When Darien died, he thought he had lost his better half and that his life, when it came to love, was over and done. Little did he know what the universe had in store for him. In order to follow this path with Rachel, he had to let go of the life he had carefully planned with Darien. In order to grab the one that was waiting for him, he had to relegate his past to cherished memories. That was so very hard, but it was happening.

Coming out of left field, his relationship with Rachel had started with a bang, but the signs had already been there. She had blown into him suddenly and with a single statement of exasperation and a passionate kiss. That had been the light Tom hadn't been focussed on. He recognized that failing and that during the darkest hours he needed to focus in order to find the light. It was why he'd turned on his heel to leave that first night, all the while realizing that she was the light he'd been looking for, and that it was okay to want her to shine in his heart.

In that moment outside of her lab, he had made the decision to change course, and the universe had shifted to accommodate that paradigm shift. Suddenly, Rachel had become available and real in his mind, and now he couldn't stop thinking about her, wanting her and loving her.

Tom also knew that Darien would approve of his choice, and be happy that he had found love again. If she couldn't be there with him, she would want him to carry on. Darien used to tell him that, and he would reply in kind. He never wanted her to stop living, to stop loving because something had happened to him. It was what made their relationship so treasured in life; it was what he treasured about her in death. Her giving, loving and practical heart eased his guilt about her death, if only a little right now.

 _It will get easier with time, son._ That was his Dad's advice. _Everything gets better with the passage of time._

TBC


	10. Chapter 10 - The Supermen Walk In File

.

When all the world was very young  
And mountain magic heavy hung  
The supermen would walk in file  
Guardians of a loveless isle  
And gloomy browed with superfear their tragic endless lives  
— David Bowie (The Supermen)

Michael Sean Dorsan was sprawled on his twin bunk in a supine position with his hands clasped across his stomach. Staring at the bottom of the upper bunk in the room he shared with three other seaman, he should have been asleep. He was wide awake and worried. After the disastrous meeting earlier with Captain Chandler, he had stopped in and talked with Rachel, to tell her what happened, and how he had run for the hills at the first opportunity.

Dorsan knew that his hasty retreat had probably gone over like a lead brick, and he'd relayed that to Rachel. However, his fear of Captain Chandler trumped any thoughts he might have had about sticking it out in the gym. Dorsan rationalized that he hadn't been ordered to stay there, and he hoped his hastily scrawled note of contrition shoved under his COs door ended their interactions without any undue harm to his service record. He figured at best the Captain was probably angry enough at his sudden departure that he would forego any future meetings, which was fine with him.

The Captain would likely opt instead to follow his progress via status reports on his engineering duties through Commander Garnett just like before. At least, that's what Dorsan hoped. Garnett was one of the good ones to work for. She had so much else going on in her department and in her life, that she barely gave him a second look. After she approved his request for night duty, he rarely saw her. She worked days and he worked nights. He performed all of his duties to the max of his ability, and in return, she left him alone. One the rare occasions where he attended the department meeting, he hung back behind the taller, brawnier seaman, quiet to the point of invisibility. She never called on him or asked his opinion. He simply and faithfully executed her orders without question or comment. It was the best of all worlds for a man who preferred to be inconspicuous.

It wasn't that he was afraid the Captain would do something to him like all those jackasses and perverts he'd encountered previously in life; he knew the Captain was a fair and honorable man. It was also clear he didn't even swing towards loving men, a fact confirmed by his nocturnal activities. He seriously doubted that Captain Chandler and Doctor Scott were discussing scientific theories in her quarters at five in the morning.

Chandler had also showered before showing up in the gym, of that Dorsan was pretty certain from his fresh, soap-in-hair smell. That was even more evidence that Chandler had been involved with Rachel the night before. Not that it was any of his business who the Captain was sleeping with, but his interest did extend as far as wondering if Chandler's relationship with Rachel would compromise the secrets about Dorsan's life that he had shared with her. There was nothing to be done on either score, so he would just have to wait and hope that her closeness to his commanding officer didn't get him kicked off the ship.

When he had spoken to Rachel earlier, she assured him that there would be no repercussions over his flight from the gym, and she had sent him to bed shortly thereafter with assurances of his continued safety on the Nathan James. Dorsan wanted to ask her about her relationship with the Captain, but he couldn't figure out a way to ask without giving away how much he knew. He already figured that the reason that his CO was skulking down the corridor at such an early hour was to avoid detection.

Dorsan had ended up not saying anything about his earlier observations lest he make things uncomfortable between them. He also vowed he would not speak of it even if he was tortured. _They can tape my eyelids open and pull off my nails with pliers, I won't give up your secret,_ he grinned to himself, which was a bit dramatic even for him.

Rachel told him that she would never let anyone know about his secret, since he was so adamant that it would likely get him thrown off the ship. True to her word, Rachel had kept his confidence all these months, and even with her relationship with Captain Chandler, she apparently hadn't divulged anything.

However, he couldn't get to know his CO without him reaching some conclusions on his own. All Dorsan had to do was take off his shirt, which he deliberately wore baggy when exercising. It covered up all that was not there. He didn't have the rippling biceps or ripped abs of a man, at least not yet.

Dorsan stayed in the shadows intent upon keeping his three meals a day, a bed, no drugs, no pervs and a job where he got paid. Maybe, he would go to college one day or maybe even the Naval Academy, if it was still there. A lot hinged on him not getting tossed off the Nathan James before he was ready to leave.

He sighed forcing his mind to stay calm. Rachel wouldn't give him up, and in return, he wouldn't give her up or his Captain. _Secrets were what kept the world whole._ He had read that in one of the many books he'd scrounged up.

He remembered when he reached the crossroads with Rachel Scott. Their conversations were becoming increasingly personal as he told her more and more about the horror that was his childhood. Their conversations had started out casual enough. Two night owls sharing beverages and talking about home or lack thereof. He showed her some Tai Chi, and some basic self defense moves, and she had talked to him about science, and not just science, but things that interested him. She talked about oceanography and how it was her second passion in life; it was his dream to one day be an oceanographer working at the Woods Hall Oceanographic Institute. He even told her that he wanted to go to the Naval Academy which made her smile sweetly at him, although she made no comment.

She was a scientist, which he thought was the foundation of her increasing curiosity about his background as well as his hopes and dreams. She was very interested in his need to lead a solitary existence, and she delved further into why he practiced alone and only worked nights. As he answered her questions, he felt like he could tell her more and more. She said he reminded her of peeling an onion, not that it made her cry, but because she was peeling away layers of hard, crunchy skin looking for the real Michael Dorsan. That conversation led to their first fight, and his realization that he needed her companionship, that he craved attention and that without her friendship, he was completely and utterly alone. The realization frightened him; feeling connected and dependent on someone was a formula for hurt and pain in is past.

Rachel asked him one evening why he had decided to join the Navy. His first answer had been a lie; he had always wanted to go Navy. His father was a Navy man. In reality, he had no father to speak of, and the stain that man left on the planet was probably his death, splattered in some dark alley by drug addicts looking to score.

After they had been talking for a time, Dorsan let slip that he didn't have a father, and that his mother was dead, too. He could still see Rachel's face as the slip up turned into truth telling. He would never forget it. Rachel had looked him square in the eye and told him that if he was going to lie to her, she didn't want to talk to him again. It was a threat he couldn't bluff his way through, and he didn't want to lose her friendship. Their talks meant too much to him. He realized just how lonely he was as he promised not to do it again, and that he would just tell her he didn't want to talk about it if it was too painful.

She accepted that compromise, but with a warning that she would be extremely angry and hurt if he lied to her again about anything. She went on the tell him how much she hated liars; her first boyfriend, almost fiancé had been a liar, a cheat and an abuser. "Even if you did something your not proud of in the past, I expect the truth or not at all. I would rather know something bad about you than to find out at some other time when you forget what you told me originally,"

Dorsan gave her his promise of total honesty from then on. And then, of course, he had lied again. _Open mouth, insert foot_. Rachel asked him a relatively innocuous question about one of the books he borrowed from her. He didn't want to give it back; he was a bit of a book hoarder. Instead of asking to keep it longer or making some other excuse to hang on to it, he said that he didn't have it. It was such a stupid lie that the minute it slipped from him, he regretted it. However, instead of backtracking immediately, he doubled down saying he was sure he no longer had it. Rachel looked at first confused and then thoughtful.

"Check your books and see if you have it, will you Sean?" she asked and he promised to do just that. The next morning when they met for sunrise coffee and tea, he told her that he looked and he definitely didn't have it. In actuality, it was under his bunk in his foot locker with all the other books he owned, and of course, it was right on top, because he had been copying it word for word into one of his notebooks.

Five minutes passed in silence as he fidgeted uncomfortably. Six minutes. Silence. He could hear the water lapping against the ship's hull in a swooshing noise that broke the quietude, rhythmic and soothing. Seven minutes. Silence.

"Let's go see," Rachel said suddenly standing up and walking towards the hatch that led to the crew quarters.

"My quarters are a mess," Dorsan called out, forced to follow her, because she didn't slow down or turn around. She just kept walking towards the far hatch. "Wait."

She passed through the door, walking down the corridor ahead of him. They reached his quarters fast, too damned fast and he didn't have a clue what he was going to say to stop her. She stood in front of the door waiting for him to open it. "The other guys are still probably asleep."

"We will be quiet," Rachel was determined; he'd seen that set of her face before, her lips pressed to a thin line, her brow furrowed. "Or, you can tell me the truth right now. You're choice, Sean."

"Okay, you're right," he was forced to admit it, and it felt like each word was wrenched from him. Dorsan spoke in a whisper, "Can we go now?" The last thing he needed was one of his three bunkmates to wake up and open the door.

"Go get the book," she spoke equally softly but with an intensity he didn't like. "Now, Sean."

Dorsan opened the door, snuck in to his quarters, retrieving the book from his locker without waking any of the other sailors. He came back into the corridor, handing her the book. _So much for lying. Now he was going to die._

"You lied to me, again." Rachel spoke softly but he could tell she was angry, "Why lie about a book? This was a book I borrowed from the Captain, because you loved submarines."

"I wanted to keep it," Dorsan replied. As silly as it sounded, it came down to that fact. "Sorry." He tried not to sound petulant although even to him it sounded that way. He braced himself for her to call him names — stupid, idiotic, pathetic loser. He waited for her to hit him, punch him and maybe, spit on him. Rachel did none of these; she just looked at him with angry eyes with a touch of sadness thrown in for good measure. Dorsan could have taken a round of berating; he could withstand the punches, but not her angry, sad gaze that measured him up in one pass. _He was a pathetic loser who had to steal books and lie about it._

"I am disappointed in your behavior," was all she said. "Good night, Sean," He watched numbly as she turned and walked away. He'd spent most of the next day trying to come up with a suitable excuse for his behavior, but by the time he went to work he had nothing new to offer. In the morning, he had rushed up to an empty deck and waited for an hour with no appearance of Rachel. By the second morning, he had gotten so desperate for her company that he was pretty convinced that she wasn't coming back. _Over a book, a damned book._ He had lost his best friend, well, his only friend since his brother died.

 _Well, she said she wouldn't talk to you if you lied, stupid_ , the carping, screeching voice in his head was having a field day. _You are so dumb. You think you're smart, but you're an idiot, a stupid lying idiot._ In desperation, he had stayed up and went to her lab ostensibly to deliver back another damned book.

"Rachel?" She was working on an experiment, her back to him. "I came to, uh—" When she turned around he stammered, faltered and fell silent. _What could he say? Maybe, this was it; he had lost his only friend._ To his great consternation and mounting embarrassment, he started to cry. He rarely cried — not when they beat him near senseless, not when he was so hungry that his stomach could feel the bones in his back, not when the perverts raped him — he had shed a few tears from the pain of the actions, but he had rarely cried. The last time he had lost it was when Michael died. And here he stood, tears streaming down his face for the loss of a friendship. As it was with his older brother, Dorsan's cry was silent, a noiseless anguish learned from years of abuse.

"Sean," Rachel's look softened when she saw his tears, putting down the petri dish she was holding. He still couldn't say anything, and he couldn't stop crying either. He just wanted to leave, but his feet had a mind of their own, growing roots underneath him.

"I'm sorry I lied to you," he stammered finally. "Can't we still be friends?" Dorsan hated the way he sounded, and with anybody else his near begging tone would have been either used against him or become the words used to scorn his sissified voice. "I won't do it again."

"We are still friends, Sean," Rachel patted his shoulder guiding him towards one of the stools in the lab. "You just made me angry, very angry. It was such a stupid thing to lie about. I needed time to cool off before I could talk to you about it. I know you've been through a lot, and I didn't want to say something you'd take the wrong way."

"I know," Dorsan whispered. "I just wanted to keep the book. I was copying it so I could refer back to it in the future."

"You were copying the whole book?"," Rachel handed him some tissues, because he was still crying. He couldn't seem to get the tears to stop, although they had slowed with the knowledge that he hadn't lost her friendship. "Why didn't you just ask me to keep it longer? If I'd known you wanted it that badly, I could probably kept it, although the Captain would be puzzled as to why I wanted it so badly. It's not exactly in my area of interest, but he would have gone along with it for me."

"My brother wanted to be a submariner," Sean voiced his reason; it just slipped out which happened more and more with her. He spoke so softly he doubted she heard him, but when he looked up he saw understanding dawning in her eyes.

"Now I see," Rachel got up and poured some juice from a thermos handing it to him, "Stop crying, Sean. We're still friends, but I won't stand for lying between us. I have only a few rules in our friendship, and that's one of them. It is non-negotiable. If you lie to me, expect me to get angry. We will still be friends, but you won't like me much."

"Okay," Sean managed to get his voice above a whisper.

"Now that I know why, I've got to figure out how to get that blasted submarine book back," she smiled down at him then, tousling his short hair with a quick swipe, It felt like the weight of the world lifted from his shoulders. He unclenched his stomach muscles; he had survived Rachel's anger, and they were still friends.

She sent him to bed when Beatrice arrived promising to turn up the next morning to watch him practice his forms. When he arrived, Rachel handed him the submarine book and said it was his to keep. He rubbed his hand over the cover, both back and front, lost in the memory of Michael's hope to be a submariner one day. It was a real book, not some cheesy paperback. It had a leather cover, beautiful binding and foil stamping on the cover. It must have cost the Captain a mint to buy it. "He let you have it?"

"Yes," Rachel replied, "he did."

"Why?" Dorsan opened the cover to look at the hand drawn artwork inside.

"Because I told him I really needed it," was all Rachel said. "Now put it down and show me the rest of the Brush Hands with the turn you were teaching me."

There had been no more incidents like that, and he had been pretty confident about things until Rachel hit another sore spot — his birthday.

"What day is your birthday, Sean? I know what's in the ship's records, but what day is your birthday not Michael's," Rachel asked. She didn't say why she wanted to know, and he stumbled over the date, because it had been so long since he'd actually used his own date.

"How old are you?" Rachel dropped the question like a mortar in the middle of their conversation about birth dates, "because I know you're not 18, almost 19."

Michael gasped at her observation before dragging his cool facade back into place. _Well, she had been around him and talking to him for a while. She saw him up close._ "I am just small for my age." _Not a lie exactly, just a dodge._ He continued looking at the star chart he had drawn knowing if he looked at her, he couldn't keep going. They were too close now, and there was that whole lie thing. He didn't want to have to die an agonizing death committing ritual Seppuku at dawn due to dishonoring himself with a lie. Stabbing himself in the stomach sounded ghastly, so if pushed he would have to either tell her he wasn't comfortable with that line of questioning or tell her the truth.

Since he seriously doubted saying he'd rather not talk about it would stop her, he stood on the precipice of choice. In a world where he had learned to lie to stay alive, telling Rachel the truth was a paradigm shift he was still adjusting to. You had to really trust someone to speak with candor. _Well, he wasn't going to lie to her, that was sure._

Rachel was quiet, and he hoped she wasn't going to pursue it. _Of course, he should have known better._

"I can understand why you did it, but I'm not sure I understand how you accomplished it." She got quiet again, waiting. He had to tell her something, and not just sit there like a zombie on a ledge. As the moments passed, he reached a decision to trust her completely. After all, she had been listening to him tell her the horror of his former life; so, he might as well tell her the comedy of errors that got him past the bureaucracy that was the United States Navy.

Dorsan smiled remembering Rachel's reaction to his admission — _can you say shock and awe_. It wasn't exactly rip roaring humor; you wouldn't wet yourself laughing about it. However, it was funny in its own sick way, and if you'd lived his life you would find it pretty, damned hilarious.

His mother, such that she was, had three children before she died: his older brother by two years, him, and his younger sister who had died in that hell hole of a foster home. She had been "slow" according to his mother who blamed him for being so smart; she told him that he had sucked his sister's intelligence into his head. Dorsan had carried that guilt until he discovered it was genetically impossible to suck the smartness from a person simply by being around them.

Janet Dorsan had been an ugly drunk and an even meaner drug addict. She hated her offspring except when it came to getting money from the government. Then she would parade them all down to the welfare office and plead poverty to get money to buy more drugs and booze.

At some point, Janet probably had been pretty, but by the time she died, her hair was a stringy blond dye job that haloed her wan complexion and dull blue eyes. Janet looked at the world through the haze of drugs and alcohol, and nothing else motivated her not even her own offspring. Her skin had sores — a little bit of acne, she called it — and she was a size 0, a scarecrow with the slack skin of a woman who hadn't seen sobriety or a decent meal in a long, long time. This wasn't the funny part, Dorsan had told Rachel that night.

Janet had been so lazy that when she had Dorsan's older brother, she had named him Michael Sean Dorsan. When she had Dorsan, she named him Sean Michael Dorsan and his younger sister had been Michelle Shane Dorsan. He told Rachel that he figured she didn't have enough braincells to figure out any other name, or she had been trying to exercise some low life plan to use the closeness of their names to screw up the computer systems at the welfare office. Dorsan wasn't sure which.

Child Protective Services finally gathered them all up when Janet had been stabbed to death one cold January night before she could reap the rewards of having three children named the same. The cops had come to their home, and after looking around for about five hot seconds, they had decided that the hovel in which they resided was a crime in and of itself.

There was no heat, electricity or running water what little heat was supplied by one old, dinged up space heater which plugged into a cord that Dorsan's older brother had rigged out the window and up two floors to steal electricity from unsuspecting neighbors. They were nothing if not resourceful. The three of them had huddled together hoping their mother would return with some food. If not, the elder Michael promised to go and steal cans of soup from the convenience store on the corner again. He told his younger brother — that would be Sean — to raid the dumpster behind the local diner two blocks away for rolls, and Michelle was to make sure the hovel didn't burn down while they were gone. The space heater cord ran hot. "We never got to implement that plan, because the cops and Child Protective Services showed up to let us know our dear mom had met an untimely end."

CPS was embodied in the form of Mrs. Alice Sullivan, a sad eyed, middle aged, seemingly sympathetic woman, in a brown overcoat with matching fuzzy brown gloves and a knitted brown cap with a green flower on the side. His brother had told him that she had been a social worker for far too long. "Don't get your hopes up, Seanie," he had said. "She's been in one too many dumps like ours where our rats are pets and the roaches uninvited houseguests." Michael had always called him Seanie, and they all had a good laugh at that one. Mrs. Sullivan made like she didn't hear or maybe, she really didn't hear. He told Rachel he didn't know which.

Sullivan hadn't even flinched when she looked around the basement apartment where they lived, and had waited patiently while they gathered up their few possessions and followed her to a dusty, brown sedan that was State-issued apparently for collection of newly orphaned children. Dorsan remembered her telling them that they would be going to a nice foster home. _Little did she know what kind of place she was sentencing us to._ "I learned a fair amount of Russian from the Andropovs. Things like duck, run and hide were at the top of my vocabulary list. Also, I'm going to kill you in Russian was also useful."

Rachel interrupted at that point asking him some questions which made him slightly uncomfortable. "That's not the funny part yet, Rachel," he had cut off her queries."Remember I told you we were all named the same, right? Well, right before the Andropovs got arrested, we ran away and got picked up by the perverts. We knew Mr. Andropov had killed Michelle, but nobody would listen to us. That was a really dark time. I think I almost lost my mind there. I wasn't gay; I'm not gay, but I don't know . . . Anyway the pervs were kinda nice if you did what they wanted."

"Nice!" Rachel looked aghast, "how could you think they were nice?"

"Well, all they wanted was sex. They gave us food if we did what they wanted, and during the winter we could sleep in their houses if they liked us. But we were getting too old; we weren't cute any more so our pimp was looking to get rid of us."

Rachel shook her head, "I wish I had known you before all of this happened."

Dorsan felt bad for having gone into so much detail with her. Maybe, he should stop, but he hadn't gotten to the funny part yet. "I haven't really. It does get funny."

Rachel smiled at him and bid him continue, "I hope we get to the funny part soon, Sean. Because, the lead up is tragically sad."

"No, wait. Listen, I'm almost there. So, my brother enlisted. He was just 17. He had all these plans about getting us out of the street life and away from the foster care idiots, and how we could all live in a small apartment, go to school and lead a normal life."

Rachel smiled for the perhaps the first time since they had started talking that evening. "Some good news, at last," she said.

"Well, yes and no," Dorsan hated dashing her hopes. "I was supposed to stay with the pervs, but since I knew that it would only be a matter of months before my brother came back, and it was summer, I just hit the streets stealing food and sleeping in burned out cars and abandoned houses. My brother sent me money for food, too. He made a deal with the guy in the convenience store, and all in all, it wasn't a half bad summer."

Rachel's perpetual frown returned. "Your sister was there?"

"She was dead already," he reminded Rachel looking out over the ship's deck to the sea beyond. _Wow, Michelle's death still hurts. Even though she was dumb as a brick, she was sweet. It's probably because of the way she died that made it so hard to forget — starvation and being kicked to death. "T_ he fosters took the money sent for food and gambled and drank it away. We did our best to keep her alive, but Mr. Ghetto Nightmare Andropov finally kicked her in the head when we were out foraging for stuff to sell. She was nice, sweet. That's what got her dead."

That statement had started a whole other conversation with Rachel, and after a few minutes of her lecturing him on people's ability not to be complete douchebags, he had relented. He had been trying to change his totally negative outlook on life since he'd met Rachel, so maybe he was wrong about why his sister had died, too.

"Finally, my brother came back from boot camp," he had continued after the "your sister being nice is not a death sentence" lecture. "We were getting an apartment together; he was going to sea, and I was going to school. By that time, I had been scooped up again, and placed in a warm, loving boys home in the city. _God, what a joke_. The only thing I learned there was how to curse in Spanish and speak it well enough not to get killed. The food was better, but you had to fight to get it. Michael told me that when I was old enough, I would go to Navy boot camp, and we would get assigned together and see the world. Well, that was the plan."

"What happened?"

"He bought himself an old, used motorcycle, and after he was assigned to the Nathan James, he got into an accident and died. But, before he died, he told me to get his documentation, and where to report to in order to take his place. It was the best he could do for me under the circumstances, and because our names were so close, if anybody checked, they would figure it was some kind of computer glitch. I got a picture taken wearing his sailor's suit, and added it to my on-boarding papers. I had some friends who did false IDs, although my brother and me looked enough alike that if you didn't look closely at the ID, you wouldn't see it. In the rush of seaman boarding, I just slipped past."

Rachel looked thoughtful for a few minutes. "Didn't anybody notice that your uniform was hanging off you like a tent?"

"That's the funny part. I thought I would be found out right away, and I kept myself out of the line of sight of anybody who might figure it out and be in a position to get rid of me. But, I was just big enough, so I guess it wasn't obvious. I'd also gotten some padding to make me look bigger, and I guess people just thought I was short. I am the minimum height requirement with a waiver; that's what my brother told me. Fortunately for me, he was short, too, but he had gained weight and grew a couple inches in boot camp. Must have been all that good food, so it was a bit hairy at first."

"The shortness probably comes from long term malnutrition. With the steady diet you're on now, you'll likely grow to your full height just like your brother Michael."

"Bacon thinks I have a tapeworm, I eat so much," Dorsan laughed and she chuckled with him. "But I was used to eating as much as I could when food was around. It's just a habit that I've been trying to break. Kind of like stocking up nuts like a squirrel or eating a ton in the summer like a bear."

" And you have padding, you said?"

"Yes," Dorsan replied. "I have sewn in shoulder pads, padding around my stomach area, and padding on my thighs. Places where I should be more bulky. I borrowed Doc Rios' anatomy book for a few days, and I looked at some of my bunkmates closely, but not too close, though."

"Why?" she asked.

"I don't want them to think I'm a perv," he had replied.

Rachel smiled at him. "You're not a pervert, Sean. I don't know why anybody who would ever think that."

"Well, you know what they say: if you lie down with dogs, you might get up with fleas."

"Not if you were forced to," Rachel retorted laughing, "Boy, don't make me beat you with a wet noodle." They both laughed.

"I studied the Naval manuals I found in the ship's library, although I've heard that Captain Chandler has some really good ones in his wardroom. I can't go in there, though. Maybe, you can borrow some others?"

"What books do you want?" Rachel went on to explain that being Doctor Scott had its perks, and that while it might look a little bit strange, she could probably play it off as general interest in the Navy now that she was on a destroyer. In other words, the submarine book he had asked her for was access to other books. The submarine book that had nearly ended his existence had come from Chandler. She had given it to him earlier in their relationship, and got it back later after the infamous lying, crying, oh my God, I'm dead incident.

"Ships and Aircrafts of the US Fleet, America's Black Sea Fleet, and the U.S. Naval Wheel Book series and anything on submarines." Rachel shook her head stating that those books might be hard to explain, but she agreed to "borrow" the books he wanted to read from Captain Chandler anyway. He had asked her for others as she returned the one's he'd finished to the Captain's private collection, and he had even told her about his love for astronomy and oceanography. She'd given him Steering by the Stars which was from her own collection of odd books worth having, and he had read them all, taking notes and scribbling in his notebook.

Rachel also agreed to keep his secret like he hoped she would, after he explained it thoroughly. She hadn't been for keeping quiet in the beginning, but after he'd begged and nearly cried, she gave in and said she wouldn't give him up. She did counsel him to tell the Captain the truth especially after the pandemic had ended much of the world. She told him that it was much less likely they'd get rid of any experienced personnel no matter their age, but he had been too afraid to do that. Tell his Captain that he had been lying for all these months? He wasn't that insane.

Dorsan continued to live in the shadows, and until Tex had dragged him out into the light, he had been satisfied to leave things that way.

He realized shortly after the "age" conversation that in Rachel he had found a true friend and confidant much like the mother he'd wished for when he was young. His fantasy mom got him through all those frigid, hungry nights on the street, when all of reality was bleak, cold and unforgiving. Somehow, he'd found that mom in Rachel Scott.

Dorsan was surprised at the depth of his feelings for her, since he was careful never to get too close to anybody, but he would never tell Rachel that she was his fantasy mom come to life. _No, that would be too embarrassing. She does call me Sean, though._ Nobody had called him that in a long time, and it made him feel real.

On his actual birthday of May 23rd, Rachel had brought him a cupcake from the kitchen with a candle fashioned from frosting on top. She had sang Happy Birthday and gave him a gift of two books from her collection — one on astronomy and one on oceanography. In his delight, he had hugged her, and with tears in his eyes, told that this had been the best birthday he'd ever had.

 _It didn't take much to be the best birthday_ , he thought. He was 16, and for the moment, he could breathe out without fear of being hit in the head by some adult who hated him just for existing, or being thrown off the Nathan James, because he was Sean Michael Dorsan and not his big brother.

As he relaxed into sleep, Dorsan wondered what tomorrow would bring. Rachel had stated emphatically that she would handle Tex and Chandler. He wondered why she referred to the Captain by his last name and Tex by his first name, but he didn't ask. She was madder than a wet hen; that's what his brother would say. When she heard that "Chandler" had started working out with him without her, she seemed almost livid. There must have been a miscommunication; that's what he'd told her hoping to calm her down. He liked the Captain, and even Tex after a fashion. There was no need for drama, but he'd only seen her that angry once, and it threw him off.

So, he'd simply mumbled 'yes, ma'am' at her order to go to bed and let it go. _Wonder if the Captain is still alive?_ Dorsan chuckled. _No, she wouldn't kill him; they're sleeping together._ Dorsan decided that he would make another shadow visit at 5am tomorrow morning to see if there was a repeat of the Captain leaving her quarters, just to be sure of his initial observation and assessment. And, he guessed all told, he wondered who his 'Mom" cared about. _Curiosity killed the cat, Sean,_ the thought drifted into his mind unbidden. _Only if the cat gets caught,_ another side of him countered. _And, I never get caught._

"Fade to black. Superhero SMX standing down," he whispered to the empty room and then laughed., "Automatic protection systems activated. Bot X, take over the watch. Copy that. Mr. X." He had been playing SMX, man of mystery and superhero for so long, it was a ritual he performed every morning before closing his eyes. Even though the video game he had played it on in the group home was older than dirt, he still loved the characters the game generated. With the death of the batteries and no charger to be found, he continued to play the game in his head a few minutes each day adding himself as SMX — Sean Michael X. It made him laugh, and it reminded him that there was someone in his corner even if it was only in his head.

 _Rachel's in your corner, too,_ his sleepy mind put in as slumber overtook him. That night Sean Dorsan dreamed of submarines, captaining his own destroyer and sailing the seas with Michael. He also dreamed of a picnic with his mom, Rachel Scott. Michelle, Michael and Beatrice were there, and they'd laughed at each others stupid jokes, chased their dog, Pretzel and swam in the pond. He'd even gotten Beatrice alone, and she told him that she loved him so much. There had been enough food for seconds and thirds and at the end of the day, they'd gone home to a house with a white picket fence and a perfectly manicured lawn with lots of windows — all clean and shiny. Michael was dragging a reluctant Pretzel in to where their two cats, Mustard and Ketchup, sat grooming themselves on the back of a large comfy sofa. Two tortoise shelled beauties, they both meowed to Sean as he passed them walking hand-in-hand with Beatrice. It was the perfect home in the picture-perfect neighborhood.

Everything was pristine and shiny until his alarm went off signaling the start of another night shift.


	11. Chapter 11 - I Watch The Ripples Change

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I watch the ripples change their size  
But never leave the stream  
Of warm impermanence and  
So the days float through my eyes  
But still the days seem the same  
— David Bowie (Changes)

Rachel leaned against the side of the shower wall allowing the hot water to hit her midsection and below. It had been a long, stressful day working with Sorenson. Even the thought of him turned her stomach, and being in the room with him for extended periods was stressful at the highest levels. Neils Sorenson had killed nearly everyone on the planet, and even after all of that, he had left the Russian ship, Vyerni contagious and more than willing to kill the remaining population who were unlucky enough to cross his path. All he had to do was breathe on the uninfected, non-immune masses. He'd done so freely with malice and forethought.

When Neils had been recaptured, it was clear that he had not only hooked up with the Immunes, who were a band of low life fanatics in their own right, but he was helping them spread the disease to unknowing men, women and children using the ruse of a stuffed animal full of Red Flu. And if that wasn't enough, Neils had also ridden around in communities infecting people by breathing on them. To say he was a despicable human being would be giving him more credit than he deserved. When the Captain had insisted that Rachel work with him, she had relented more because of her feelings for the Captain than anything else.

Rachel was loathe to be in Sorenson's presence, but he did have information that she needed to complete saving the world. It was necessary, but with each passing day, it became harder for her not to sink a scalpel into his jugular and watch him bleed out like the pig that he was. She could almost visualize him gagging and drowning in his own blood looking up at her as the bringer of his demise. She wasn't a religious woman, but she did have faith. She had faith that when Sorenson died, he would meet all the souls of the people he killed, all four billion plus.

It was the one time she wanted to believe in heaven and hell again; she could imagine the floor opening underneath him, dragging him down to the fiery gates where they had a seat of honor made entirely of fire — waiting just for him. It was macabre, painful — of course the scene came with screaming and pleading on his part as he was eternally burned alive. It had been a long time since Rachel wished for someone to die, let alone go to hell. The idea of Sorenson's death brought a smile to her face. He should pay for killing the world, and she hoped that one day he would.

"I wish you hadn't forced me into working with him," Rachel voiced to the water raining down on her. "I have rarely felt pure hatred like this. Only one other time came to mind, and it was something she felt guilty and remorseful about — when her mother died and her father did nothing. Rachel remembered her mother's death like it was yesterday.

"I hate you," a young Rachel had said when her father told her it was God's will, "There is no God." She had received a slap for that, but she had not cared. Blasphemous or not, she buried God and her love for her father that day, "I hope you die soon, just like Mom did."

It was because her mother had not just died going peacefully in her sleep. What formed the basis of her rage was watching her mother slowly slip away day after day. She had fought to hold onto life, and Rachel had sat by her bedside as she choked, gasped and tried desperately to breathe as she slowly drowned in her own bodily fluids. Her father had been on the other side of the bed praying along with a prayer circle of people who thought that their faith alone could vanquish the virus. Her mother had also been in pain, but she was told that they waited on the Lord to relieve her agony rather than give her any medication to ease her passing. Holding Rachel's hand so tightly, she transferred some of the pain to her daughter. In the end, her mother had come to, looking at Rachel with the last clarity that comes right before the end..

"Be good. I will always love you, baby," Rachel's mother had whispered. "Don't blame your father. My faith was just not strong enough." Rachel looked at her mother aghast; she had drank the Kool-aid of delusion, and it had finally killed her.

As the tears streamed down Rachel's face, she had vowed that her only God would be logic and science from then on. Her mother had been her rock, because her father felt that his time was better spent preaching the gospel, screaming about how God's wrath would lay humanity low, and ministering to the sick — in other words, he was always gone or busy. As an adult during the Red Flu pandemic, Rachel wondered if he had been right about God's wrath, but she pushed that notion aside, looking to science to find the cure.

Rachel and her mother had shared a special bond that once broken, shattered her faith in life, people and love. At a young age, she mastered picking up the pieces of her grief-stricken psyche and alone putting herself back together. That would be the first of many times she had angrily grieved a loss and moved on. Through the pain, desolation and unadulterated rage that settled in her heart, she had soldiered on. Her relationship with her father had been strained to non-existent; they lived under the same roof, but they might as well have been on separate continents. On the rare occasions when they talked, they argued, and it was Rachel's fury that came to the fore, always throwing out the one ending that stopped all shouting — "I will never forgive you for letting Mom die. I will never love you. I hope you die just like she did, and I hope you go straight to hell."

Rachel saw the pain in her father's eyes, as he backed away from her fury. He would try to talk about God and His will. He would sometimes take the rod to her, too, trying to whip some sense and respect into her. All the former succeeded in doing was to grind in the how unnecessary her mother's death had been, and the latter made her hate him all the more. After a few run ins with the rod, Rachel stopped talking to him altogether, and they lurched towards her adulthood in complete silence. She was biding her time to come of age so she could leave. He knew it, but there was little he could do to reverse her course. They both wound up spending years in isolation and anger.

When she turned 18, she left for college where she channelled her fury into excelling in science. She never looked back. She led a solitary, goals driven existence until she met Richard; he was a couple of lovers before Michael who died in China. Richard's abusive nature reminded her too much of her father, and their rocky relationship ended one stormy night when he slapped her in the face, and she threw a frying pan hitting him squarely on the side of his head. As he crumbled to the floor, she had gone and packed and walked out into the rain, taking her car and abandoning him as she had her father. She never looked back.

Her subsequent relationships were long distance, non-committal trists that satisfied her sexual appetites, but never rising to the level of a deep, committed love. She never let anyone get close enough to know her — not her strengths nor her weaknesses. Lovers were allowed only to delve in the shallows of her feelings; she never risked getting into a relationship deep and honest enough to allow a lover to make a decision that they would still love her. It had worked well, right through Michael, and although his death had been painful to her, she could let him go without losing focus on her goal.

All of that changed when she met her blue eyed, blond-grey haired Navy captain. With him, she was finding her way back to trusting again, of loving deeply and with abandon. Her focus was skewed, warped around her feelings. It was a dramatic change. She couldn't get her mind off of him when she was alone, and she had such high anticipation of seeing him all the time. When he smiled, her heart tightened. When he laughed, her stomach was a flutter. When he kissed her, she wanted it to go on forever.

It was silly and sweet. He was a romantic guy, gentle and kind. And, boy was he sexy. She hadn't had fantasies about a man for a long time. Now they rose unbidden, and made her smile in spite of her trying to keep up appearances. In her past, she had filled her time with non-stop work, traveling the world looking to conquer the next deadly virus. Now, she could feel herself slowing down; not that she wasn't going to ferociously pursue diseases that were a threat to the world. But, now she was also making room for the silly stuff, like being tickled and kissing and cuddling. Tom could say things to her that would get other men killed, and his patience was endearing. Rachel had never felt playful; she had always been serious. It was one of the things she shared in common with Sean. However, Tom brought play and teasing; she could be a cheeky bitch if she wanted and he would just laugh it off. They were already in sync which made things that much easier.

Their relationship was a friendship first, and in spite of her best efforts, he found his way behind her carefully constructed walls, He gave of himself freely, giving her love, stability and the chance to let her walls come down.

As the water ran down her legs, she shifted and started washing her hair. It was on nights like these, when Neils Sorenson had been going on and on about his theories, and why he knew they were right and sound, she had gleaned what she could from him and had the guards take him away before she threw up in his face. After he was gone, she felt like she needed a shower to wash the stench of him off of her. Her hatred for him was on the level of her hatred for her father. Even though, she had come to terms with God on the issue, she had never forgiven her father. Ironically, a stupid joke made by one of her colleagues had allowed God back into her life. She still laughed when she heard it:

 _During a flood, a man was sitting on the top of his house, and a man came by in a boat and asked him if he wanted to leave. He had told him that he was waiting for God to take care of him. The guy in the boat left and the man kept praying for salvation as the water rose higher and higher. Then a helicopter came by and the man said no, he was waiting on God to save him. As he waited the water was getting higher and higher._

 _Another man came by in a motorboat and offered to take him off the roof. The man told him no; he was waiting on God. The water came up and drowned him, and since he was a god-fearing man, he went to heaven. When he got there, he asked God why he hadn't saved him, and God looked down at him and said: "I sent you a boat, a helicopter and a motor boat, and you didn't take me up on any of those things. I can lead a horse to water, but I can't make him drink."_

The joke meant to Rachel that God had provided the knowledge humans needed to make a cure for most viruses, and her father had ignored it in favor of prayer. She wondered if her Mom had the same conversation with God that they guy on the roof had. It made her belief in God less abhorrent, but she still hated her father for ignoring all the cures put in his path.

Massaging the shampoo into her hair, she wondered how she'd ignored being alone for so long. Part of that empty hole inside her had been filled with music; the rest of her time, she was driven by science. It's what made her the best in her field, and now the best in the world. It had also covered her loneliness, which she had studiously ignored until recently.

Again, a smile graced her lips. The image of Tom Chandler rose in her mind. In just the few months that she had known him, through all their arguments and especially the nicer times when they simply shared each other's space, she had begun to feel the warmth and connectedness of him. Even before they had ever even considered consummating their relationship, the bond between them existed — unspoken yet very real.

And, through that bond with the Captain, she had come to bond with members of the Nathan James crew: Kara, Alisha, Danny, Bacon — the list went on. She had also apparently gained a kind of son named Sean; she wasn't sure how that had happened, but it was clear they shared that kind of friendship.

When they had first met, Sean had radiated loneliness to the level that so reminded her of herself at 18, she couldn't help but respond to it. Rachel had found a similar mentor/father figure in Doctor Julius Hunter who saw her brilliance and drive to be the best. He also saw the rejection and her solitude. For all her brilliance, she was an outcast. When he got to know her better, he began to fill the chasm in her heart left by the father she'd abandoned. He couldn't bring her mother back; he couldn't even repair the rift between her and her gospel touting father. What he could do was become a surrogate, guiding Rachel away from the rocky shoals of fury unbridled.

 _Everybody needs a parent in their corner, even if they weren't born to the person playing that part._ Hunter had shared that bit of wisdom with her a few years into their relationship, and told her that it was okay that she felt that way. As she grew older, his mentoring had diminished her rage about her past as her work in the paleomicrobiological field blossomed.

Rachel figured Sean was the pay-it-forward section of her life, because Sean's rage, fear and loneliness stemmed from a childhood from hell much worse than her own, but still on par with her feelings of parental betrayal. Her father had given her passive neglect punctuated at points with physical abuse. Mostly, he just didn't care; addicted to the Lord, was what she called it. Sean had been abused on a scale that left one wondering how he remained sane. His answer was heartbreaking and familiar; it was the same answer she had given herself all those years ago — I didn't know there was anything wrong with my life, so I just figured this was the way all families behaved.

Sean channeled his rage into the martial arts which is why he did it so well. However, Rachel saw his real strengths not in the 20 odd ways he'd demonstrated to kill someone with his bare hands. Rachel saw his real brilliance in his love of books, his dedication to learning science and the fact that he picked up things at record speeds. He was plowing through Tom's books quickly. He wanted to go to the Naval Academy, if it ever came back into being. He wasn't sure what he needed to know in order to get accepted, so he studied everything and anything he could get his hands on. It was funny in a way; his scattershot study methods reminded her of her earlier days, too. At least she'd had a university curriculum to follow. _If you don't know what to study, study everything._

Rachel rinsed her hair turning her back on the shower head so the water run in her hair and down her back. She loved the smell of her shampoo. Her mind went back to thinking about Tom, of course. That was much of what she thought about these days. She had long known how she felt about him; just being in his presence made her all warm and fuzzy inside. Now that they had a relationship going, she had a hard time thinking about anything else. She tried to concentrate, but likely as not, her mind drifted to him — his blue eyes that seemed to go on forever, soft kissable lips and his gentle teasing that brought giggles and sunshine.

Rachel knew why their relationship felt older than the few days they'd officially hooked up; her feelings ran back a lot further than a couple days. She had respected his marriage, his wife's death and the subsequent withdrawal as he dealt with things. However, what she'd thought was her worst mistake to date — the fevered kiss in the hallway — had turned out quite well. She considered herself lucky; it could have gone really badly.

Finishing her shower, she came out and fished out her blow dryer. Normally, she'd let her hair dry naturally — better for the hair follicles and such — but she didn't want to turn up to dinner with dripping hair. It was too long to dry as fast as she needed, so the blow dryer she kept for emergencies was the ticket. They were getting together with Tex to talk about Sean — she needed to remember to call him Michael in the meeting. They also invited Commander Andrea Garnett as she was his direct commanding officer. Hopefully, she would provide another favorable recommendation about him. The Captain wanted her views on the young seaman, and Rachel hadn't objected. She did, however, let Tom know that while they were talking about him, she didn't want all of them turning up in the gym like a firing squad at dawn. Tom had laughed at that, and promised that wouldn't happen.

Rachel picked out a beige top with a small floral display to go along with her black jeans. She usually wore blue jeans and boots, but this time she wore black with a pair of sneakers, also black. She threw a loose sweater on top, also black and looked at herself in the mirror. _Are you going to dinner or a funeral?_ She opened the drawer where her accessories were housed, trying to pick out something that complimented the shirt she was wearing. She wasn't a big "accessory girl" so it would be against her norm to suddenly show up in bangles and chains. Besides, she didn't own any of that "bling." She did want to look nice for Tom, but she also realized that everyone else there, save Tex who dressed like a hippie, would be wearing some form of Naval uniform. If she suddenly showed up looking too nice, it would be a red flag for everybody.

"Maybe, a different color shirt," she mumbled to herself. "I can't believe I'm trying to dress up for a man." She took off the beige shirt and replaced it with a pastel pink one. She left the rest of the outfit alone, and scrambled through her drawer looking for lip gloss. "You've got to have lip gloss at least." She looked in the mirror. Forget the lip gloss. _He likes me just the way I am._

1900 hours came too fast, and she braided her dampish hair and headed out the door. Academia had done nothing for her style sense, and it was at these times she wished she had read a few of those beauty magazines instead of limiting her reading to Scientific American and Paleomicrobiology white papers and articles. Palaeomicrobiology was an emerging field devoted to the detection, identification and characterization of microorganisms in ancient remains. While very interesting, it did little to enhance her outer look, although according to Tom she would look good wearing a potato sack. She wasn't too sure about that one, but he had assured her he loved the way she looked no matter what she did. Rachel walked briskly down the corridor heading towards the Captain's wardroom. _Had it been eight hours since she'd last seen him?_


	12. Chapter 12 - And these children that you

.

And these children that you spit on  
As they try to change their worlds  
Are immune to your consultations  
They're quite aware of what they're going through.  
\- David Bowie (Changes)

The Captain's wardroom door loomed large, and she knocked softly and pushed it in to enter. Tom opened the door wide smiling at her, his back to the others in the room. For a moment, they shared an intimate look. He winked at her which started the warm, fuzzy feelings again. She smiled shyly back at him. Then they both put on their most neutral faces and walked towards the table. Tom sat at the head of the table as was customary for the captain of the vessel. On his right sat Cmdr. Andrea Garnett and on his left was an empty chair, then next to it sat Tex. Rachel waved hello to everyone seated as Tex rose to offer her a seat.

"Always the gentlemen," Rachel smiled at him. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw annoyance flash across Tom's face, quickly covered as he took his seat. Tex smiled, and Rachel could swear he did the chair thing just to annoy Tom. It had worked, too. _Hopefully, they won't wind up dueling at dawn._

"So, let's talk about Michael Dorsan, before dinner arrives," Tex began the conversation. "Would you like some tea, Rachel?" He was already on his feet moving towards the refreshments table. "I brought you that green tea you love."

Rachel wondered if Tex was deliberately trying to piss off Tom, because from the micro expressions Tom couldn't hide, Rachel could see it was working. Tom shot her a quick glance, and she smiled at him, her eyes twinkling. He relaxed, because at the end of the day, it would be he and not Tex coming to her stateroom.

"What can I help with? He is an excellent seaman; he's no trouble at all. In fact, he learns stuff so quickly that he's advanced in my department. He is so quiet, half the time I forget about him."

Tex delivered Rachel's tea, and slid back into his seat next to her. "We were thinking of tapping into his martial arts abilities. _"_

Andrea Garnett looked confused for a moment, "You want him to teach martial arts? I wasn't aware he was that good?"

"He's excellent, dare I say, phenomenal." Tex replied. "He managed to throw me to the ground without even trying. And he taught me a couple of killing techniques I've never seen, and I've seen a lot."

"He also showed me a little of his form." Tom said. "The problem with Dorsan is that he doesn't think he's any good at it."

"Well, that applies to everything he does. He apologizes for everything, like he doesn't have the right to be alive. I'm not sure how he does it, but he picks up things rapidly. Every manual Mr. Chung has given him, he's returned it in a couple days and he knows it by heart. I told Mr. Chung he might have a photographic memory."

"He has a near photographic memory, but not exactly. Like he can't tell you what's written on Page 22, line 15. However, he processes and integrates what he reads rapidly. He does that with all of the books I've given, and the stuff that he really wants to remember, he writes it down in his notebooks," Rachel piped up. Garnett looked at her puzzled.

"You seem to know him pretty well, Doctor Scott," Garnett said.

"Please, call me Rachel. Yes, I gave him one of my laptops that I'm not using so he could stop scribbling in those notebooks of his."

"So, you two are friends."

"Yes, we are."

Andrea mouthed a silent 'Oh, I see.' before continuing. "To be honest with you, I didn't know he had any friends. And, it's not for a lack of trying either. He's a ghost, and he seems to like being alone. My guys call him Short Stack, because he's so short, and sometimes they call him The Professor because if you ask him a question directly, he usually has the answer."

"He hates the name, Short Stack," Rachel put in softly.

Andrea Garnett raised her eyebrows, "I did not know that. Why didn't he say something?"

"He's very shy, and he doesn't want to be difficult." Rachel replied smiling at Andrea, "It's not your fault. He just has a problem expressing himself."

"But, he talks to you." Andrea asked, "I've been hard pressed to get three words out of him beyond 'yes, ma'am,' and 'no, ma'am" and he rarely looks me in the eye. I figured he was embarrassed about his height, because everybody else in my crew is a head taller than he is and a lot brawnier. I figured out that he was shy on my own."

"Yes, he talks to me. Our friendship happened quite by accident. I'm a night owl, and I found him practicing Tai Chi and Jujitsu on the deck outside of my laboratory. We got to talking, and he started teaching me some Tai Chi."

"Wow! I'm just floored." Andrea shook her head in disbelief. "I knew none of this. He's been in my department for months, and none of us even knew he did martial arts beyond the beginner stage. That's what he told me."

"He has a black belt in Jujitsu," Rachel replied, "and Chen style Tai Chi."

"You mean he could kill all of us without breaking a sweat," Andrea laughed when she said it but there was a question in her voice.

"Yes," Rachel replied. "He knows how to kill, but he's not a killer, if you know what I mean. It's not in him to kill. He's disciplined and gentle. He puts up with the Short Stack name and all the teasing from the guys. He would never hurt them, although I think he has that protection mindset."

"So, if somebody messed with you or hurt you, he would kill them?" Andrea said.

"And you, or anybody else in the crew on the Nathan James."

"Wow, I'm really not sure why I'm here. I don't know anything about him, not like what you've just told me. He is so quiet; it's unnatural sometimes. His three bunkmates have told me on a number of occasions that he was a nerdy, bookish type, but nothing about the martial arts."

The door to the corridor opened and Bernie "Bacon" Cowley came in carrying three plates of food. He smiled placing the orders in front of each person: Garnett had broiled chicken; Tex went for a fried chicken dish; and, the Captain ate a stir fry dish. Bacon then turned to Rachel asking her, of the three dishes prepared which she'd want. She opted for the stir fry noodle dish like the Captain, and heard Tex chuckle. She ignored it.

"Bacon thinks he's got a tapeworm," Andrea said.

"You mean, Mr. Dorsan? That kid eats like the food is going to run out, and he has to store it up the way a camel stores water." Everyone laughed at his observation. "You would think he was starved when he was a kid, because he's no bigger than a minute, but he eats enough for two people."

"He was starved as a kid," Rachel said it into the quiet of the room, and the chuckles stopped. Bacon looked at Rachel for a moment.

"You're joking, right?" he said finally.

"No." Rachel offered no more of an explanation, and finally Bacon took his queue and left them. After a few minutes of silent eating, Rachel started the conversation again. "We should take it easy on him. From what I know about him, his shyness is from lack of self esteem. He really doesn't think he's qualified to do anything, let alone teach anybody. The way I got him to start teaching me was by imitating what he was doing. I guess I did it so badly, he felt compelled to correct me."

"He started correcting you?" Andrea asked.

"Well, sort of. He asked permission to touch me, in order to help me find my center."

Bacon took that moment to come back through the door with Rachel's plate of food, sitting it with a glass of water in front of her.

"Thank you, Bacon." Rachel gave him her warmest smile trying to infer by look alone that she held nothing against him for his jokes. He smiled at her in return and left. She felt bad that she had made that statement. It had popped out before she could censor it, and Bacon was the kind of guy to take it to heart. She would have to speak to him when she went for her breakfast the next morning to ease his conscience.

"He asked permission to touch you? Where did he want to touch you?" Tom asked.

"He touched me on the front on my stomach, right above my navel and on my back at about the same spot. He said he needed to help me find my Dan Tien or my center. He moved me slightly back and forth, this way and that, until he said I was there. The feeling was definitely different when I found center. He told me that without knowing how to center, it was impossible to do any kind of martial arts. Tai Chi was the first martial art; he also said that all of the moves in Tai Chi are martial and deadly. He told me his brother taught him all of this, at first to defend himself and then for the love of it."

"He has a brother?" Andrea asked.

"Had a brother," Rachel corrected. "He died in a motorcycle accident."

"Oh. Sounds like this kid has no good luck."

"His luck changed when he got on the Nathan James. He loves it here, and has told me that the Navy is the first stable place he's been in. He speaks of you, Andrea, as if you're a god. You can do no wrong in his eyes. He can recite every thing you're ever said almost verbatim. He was writing it down in his notebook until I gave him the computer."

"Wow, you never know the impression you make on people," Andrea said.

"He really has the utmost respect for you," Rachel said.

"I didn't even think he was paying attention."

"He doesn't miss much. He just doesn't comment on things like others. That silent streak was learned from his life. It kept him alive."

"You learned all this because he started teaching you Tai Chi?"

"Yes. After asking to touch me, he would make adjustments and talked about his love of the martial arts. His touch is so light, you have to really concentrate in order to feel what he's doing. It's strange; he looks like he's listening to you, you know head slightly cocked to the side, and his gaze never travels up to look you in the eye. That's the shyness coming through, I think. We've gotten past that but it took a while."

"Does he do that every time you do Tai Chi with him?" Tom asked.

"No, not anymore. I can find my own Dan Tien now. I know what it feels like inside, and I can shift back and forth on my own to find it."

"It's kind of like getting your sea legs," Tom said. "You roll around a ship like a drunken sailor on your first cruise, and you might be seasick if the ships small enough. Eventually, you get your legs under you, and it becomes second nature."

"With all of his training, why didn't he kick some arse back as a kid?"

"That's complicated. Let me sum it up this way: knowing how to do something and realizing that you're good enough at it to doing something about your circumstances are two different things. I think he's done some fighting in the past, but he's ashamed to talk about it. Plus, the foster parents were evil, tough as nails and liable to kill you if you looked at them the wrong way. All the abuse he endured left a chasm of self esteem issues he's finding very difficult to bridge. Dorsan doesn't think he's any good, so he keeps practicing and improving trying to reach an idealized perfection in his head."

Everybody was silent for a time after that finishing up their meals considering what Rachel said. Two crew members came in, collected the dishes and disappeared again.

"What does he know that will help the other men?" Tex asked when they were alone again, "besides 100 ways to kill somebody without breaking a sweat?"

"Well, he's shown me about 20 different ways to maim a person. He's says he's still perfecting his techniques, but what he showed me looked pretty darn polished. He can also knock someone out using two fingers like a Vulcan nerve pinch, although he didn't try that one on me. He said he survived the boys home with those tricks, although he wanted to use the killing methods on some of the residents there. He told me that he was too disciplined to kill, because he knew he would go to jail, and he had other plans for his life. All he had to do was survive to adulthood and go in the Navy which is exactly what he did."

"Disciplined, goals oriented and focused." Tom looked thoughtful

"Yes, very disciplined. He worships Changqing and has read that book so much, its in tatters. "

"Who is Changqing?" Tex asked.

"You know him as Sun Tzu, but Sean says his courtesy name outside of his family is Changqing, and that Sun Tzu actually means Master Sun. His actual name was Sun Wu, hence the honorific."

"Sean?" Tom looked confused.

"Oh, sorry." Now Rachel would have to explain her slip. Hopefully, Sean Dorsan wasn't in his records as Michael's younger brother, "I call him Sean. He likes that name, but he uses his first name, Michael, with everyone else."

"So, you're special?" Andrea grinned at Rachel.

"I'm his friend," Rachel said. _Friend, protector, teacher and mom._

"So what do you think our plan should be?" Tom asked Rachel moving the conversation along.

"I know he can't stand it when people are doing forms wrong, so what you should do is turn up and try to do what he's doing. That's how I got him started explaining things to me. At first, he tried to ignore what I was doing, but after about 15 minutes of me messing it up, he started making corrections. He trusts me, so I think if you guys show up, maybe one at a time and not like a stampede, he will do the same thing."

"So tomorrow morning, which of us wants to go first?" Tom asked. There was silence. "Okay, so I guess that means me, and since I got off on such a bad foot with him, maybe it will work out better for you two."

"This will certainly be an interesting way to get him to open up a little. I'll also pass the word about Short Stack. I had no idea he didn't like it. In fact, from this conversation, I realize I've had no idea about him at all. Tai Chi and Jujitsu — if anybody had told me I was going to be learning martial arts, I would have told them they were crazy." Everyone started laughing at that point. "So, what time should I show up in the gym?"

"I'll go at 0600 hours; how about you come at 0700 and Tex, you show up at 0630. That way, he'll have a chance to get used to each of us. We should do something benign like Tai Chi, right Rachel?"

"That sounds good to me," she said.

"Okay, then. I should head out and get ready to go to sleep," Andrea Garnett got to her feet making a beeline for the door. "I am not much of a morning person." She bid them good night and departed.

Tex got up to leave as well, placing his hand on Rachel's shoulder. "Now, take it easy on him after I leave. Don't do anything I wouldn't do." He gave Tom a big grin and turned to leave chuckling to himself. "Good night all."

The door slid shut, and they were alone. "I get the impression Tex knows what's going on," Rachel said.

"How so soon? We've barely been together long enough for us to know. How could he figure it out so soon?"

"Tex is very intuitive. Maybe our auras have changed." Rachel smiled at him as she went to lock the wardroom door, and then returning to sit on his lap. She was ready to take liberties, and she almost blew it laughing in that delicious moment when Tom's face registered confusion. Then he opened his arms and wrapped them around her as she sat down.

"There is a certain scientific basis for that aura thing, you know." Rachel kissed him lightly on the lips, "although, I'd like to think Tex is just guessing."

"Yeah, with all that helping you to your seat, here's some tea crap," Tom said it with a smile, but she heard the undertone of annoyance.

"Your little green monster is coming out, Chandler," she kissed him again.

"What?"

"You know, that little green monster that sits on your shoulder and tells you to maim all competition for my affections. It's name is Jealousy."

"I'm not jealous," Tom said kissing her back. "I woke up with you, and God-willing I'll go to sleep with you tonight, so what do I have to be jealous about?

"Did you know that when you get embarrassed, the tops of your ears turn pink," Rachel teased him, running her hands over one of his earlobes.

"They do not."

"Yes, they do," she kissed him again, "and that's okay. You have nothing to be jealous about, you know."

He kissed her again, this time longer and with more passion, 'I know. May I come by to see you tonight, my sweet lady?"

"Yes, please,." Rachel liked sitting on his lap, feeling connected and, dare she say it, loved. She felt like she kept falling for him each time she saw him, and each time was harder than the last. Her feelings deepened and became more complete, more bewitching. There wasn't a thing she wouldn't do to keep him safe, and each time they were together, she felt like bursting with the feelings he brought out in her.

"Same time, same place, then . . ." Even though their plans were done, Tom showed no signs of letting her go. "I missed you today. Tonight, can I come a little earlier? Maybe, we can talk?"

Rachel's good feelings lurched. There it was again. _Anytime a man says he wants to talk, its never good news._ The thought rose like a specter unbidden and that dark thought came accompanied by dread. _Replaced. Good feelings go down, fears rise just like the heat of midday._ She tried to get up, but he held her in place smiling at her as she tried to leave. Af first he thought she was playing with him, so he held her there.

"Why wait?" Rachel snapped at him instantly regretting it, as she saw his happiness turn to confusion registering in his raised, furrowing eyebrows and now uncertain smile. "Let's just get it over with now."

"What did I say?" Rachel made another attempt to get up, but she realized that he was stronger than she was and he wasn't going to relinquish his hold on her without an explanation. "Rachel, what just happened?"

She didn't say anything just sat looking away into the distance. What could she say? Every man who had ever said they 'wanted to talk' had ended up tearing her world apart. She had become quite adept at hiding the broken, jagged pieces of her pain, getting that cover back on the box that made it impossible to trust but impossible to hurt.

"Babe, tell me what's going on?" Tom slowly ran his hand up and downer back, his joking manner replaced by a quiet, nurturing tone. Clearly, he had no idea what had made her angry, pensive and dare she admit, fearful.

"Nothing," she replied softly. She had made herself vulnerable to this man; she had opened herself up, and now he wanted to talk. H _e had her, and now he wanted to talk. When men want to talk . . . It couldn't be true . . . Not with him._ She fought to stay calm _. Listen to what he has to say._ In every other arena, things would never get this far. Rachel was strong, smart and capable. In personal relationships, she kept her distance until Tom Chandler. Now, she felt weak and inadequate, and all her years of careful wall building had been for naught. _I can't believe I let my guard down with you. This is why I don't do deep, committed relationships._

"So, let's talk now, before you do a Dorsan on me," he smiled when he said it, and the fluttering in her stomach got worse. "I wanted to talk about when we're going to let others know about our relationship," Tom plowed forward ignoring the look on her face. "Is that enough explanation for you to let me into your stateroom later on tonight, or am I going to be reduced to beating your door down and cause a scene at midnight?"

Rachel relaxed, leaning against his chest, "Do a Dorsan?" This was going to be hard for Sean; loving him was going to be hard for her. No, not loving him — she did that already. Trusting him — that was her issue.

"Yes," Tom laughed and continued talking, "Run for the hills, because I'm so scary. Or, you've scared me to death, so I better run like hell. Doing a Dorsan."

"Bad choice of words earlier," Rachel managed. _Told you to wait and hear what he had to say,_ her mind chided _. He's not like most men which is why you're so gone on him._

"What words?"

"We need to talk," she said softly. "That never ends well; in fact, its usually the beginning of something horrible."

"You're rolling the tire again, Rach," Tom said softly and ran his hand up her side making her jump and giggle. "I owed you that." He tickled her again, laughing. "What did you think? I was going to have sex with you and toss you out like some old shoe? What kind of man do you think I am?" More tickling and now she was laughing trying to get away — squirming a little but failing.

"Let's make a deal, shall we? Don't compare me to any of the creeps from your past, and I will remember not to say we need to talk. I'll say something like, we should confer, we need to meet and greet, or get together for a convo."

"You're being silly," Rachel said. She could hear his heartbeat, rhythmic and soothing and felt her own heartbeat slowing.

"And, so are you," Tom countered, "but that's okay. Like you tell me about Mr. Dorsan, or Michael, or Sean, or whatever his name is this week, you've been through a lot, too."

"That true in some ways. I have been wildly successful in other ways. My grief and insecurities rear their ugly heads at the most inconvenient of times."

"I know. Pain and fear aren't easy to get rid of, no matter how much you measure it. The way you deal with pain and grief is unique to you."

Rachel turned towards him and hugged him tight as if she could convey her feelings through touch. "I can't believe how much I love you," she whispered. _And why I love you so much._ In a heartbeat, he had read her and reached a conclusion about fears she'd only thought of seconds before. With Tom, her emotions were plain. No facade with him. He was teasing her about it, but he also was addressing it . It was okay to be vulnerable with him, because he wouldn't use it against her. She settled again and leaned on him. It felt good to have that with him.

"My pain is nowhere near as great as Mr. Dorsan. And if you want to call him by his first name, call him Michael."

"I thought you said he likes the name Sean?"

"He likes _me_ to call him Sean. I'm not sure how he'll react if you call him that."

"Well, we are going to see, aren't we?" Tom said. "Because, one way or the other, he's going to get over being terrified of me." He paused only a beat, "And, if you say he's been through a lot one more time tonight, I'm going to do something you won't soon forget."

"Yeah, like what?" Rachel sat up looking straight at him, at his big, beautiful blue eyes that made her both fuzzy and horny at the same time.

"Gonna kiss you all over from head to toe this evening," Tom replied, a twinkle in his eye and a smile gracing his lips. "Every last inch of you."

"He's been through a lot," Rachel said it quickly with a grin of her own. "Now you have to."

"Okay, you were warned. Now we'll have to make love the old fashioned, slow way. With lots of kisses and bushels full of love."

"Did anyone ever tell you that you're a hopeless romantic, Chandler?" He grinned in response kissing her lightly on the lips.

He took her face in both his hands, and stared deeply into her dark chocolate eyes, "I will never hurt you, Rachel. Trust me."

"I trust you more than I have ever trusted anyone save my Mom," Rachel replied. _I only hope I haven't trusted you too much._

"I guess that will have to do for now." She realized his patience in that moment. He wanted her complete trust, and knew it was not hers to give at that moment. In his last statement, she realized he would wait perhaps forever for her trust, if that's how long it took.


	13. Chapter 13 - Come Tomorrow Will I Be Old

.

Come tomorrow, will I be older  
Come tomorrow, maybe a soldier  
Come tomorrow, may I be bolder than today  
— David Bowie (Shapes of Things)

Tom was gently shaking Rachel to wake her up. "Morning, Sunshine," he whispered in her ear. They had spent another night together, falling asleep in each others arms after a time of sweet lovemaking. Once again he had wanted to broach the subject of when they would let the rest of the world know about their budding romance, and again, he had been too distracted to make it happen. One side of him liked things orderly and precise, and the other side, the one that made love to Rachel, threw orderliness to the wind. Currently the wilder side was winning the battle for his attentions, and that strategic talk remained to be had sometime in the future. She had come into his life like a storm, and from the introductions the previous year, he had known he was in trouble.

Chalking his instant attraction up to being a testosterone-ridden man in the beginning, he had admired her from from afar. It was easy then; he could just be a testosterone factory without tawdry whistles and catcalls. That would have been unseemly, but he could admire her form, the way she walked and those luscious, kissable lips. That attraction had been offset by the wonderful time he'd spent with Darien and the kids, and that vision would come into his mind and sweep all other thoughts away. As they had sailed towards the top of the world, his interactions with Rachel deepened into a stormy, wonderful friendship. And now, with Darien's death, things had come full circle for him with one major change. Darien was dead, and he was free to pursue the beautiful doctor.

In the quiet of the morning, he felt the pangs of guilt and remorse. _Have I pursued things too rapidly? Did I neglect to give Darien the proper length of time to be cherished and mourned. Am I doing both of the women I love a disservice — to Rachel because I still mourn Darien, and Darien because I already love Rachel._ He sighed shaking lose these darker ruminations. It was too late to go back now, and if there's one thing he learned in the Naval Academy is that once you commit to a course of action, unless a situation comes up to change the variables in play, you stick with it. It gives anyone around you the stability to stay the course. He couldn't un-love Rachel as much as he couldn't un-mourn Darien. Two sides to the same coin, so be it.

"Rise and shine, beautiful. We have a date in the gym." Action always dispelled contemplation, and when there was a conclusion to all that contemplation, it was best to let sleeping dogs lie.

Rachel groaned pulling the blanket over her head.

"You should take a quick shower, pull on some workout clothes and meet me in the gym," Tom said as she pulled the covers higher, so high in fact that her feet popped out the lower end.

"Can't we do this getting to know you session in the evening? Sean won't mind."

"No, because there's too many people around." He pulled the blankets off the bed looking with appreciation at her naked form. "You better get up before I lose control of myself, then neither one of us will make it to the gym. That would leave Tex and Andrea with Sean alone, which might not be the best plan considering how he reacted to me the last time we were alone together."

The cold air got her moving, and for a minute she mumbled that he wasn't being fair before she dragged herself out of the bed to go to the shower. He followed pulling on his pants, shoes and shirt. "Want to shower with me?" Rachel asked turning it on.

"I wish I could, darlin, but I think that would be a dead giveaway that we were together. If I came in smelling like vanilla spice instead of Navy blue, I think even the densest of people would wonder. And if you showered with my soap smell in your hair, the opposite would be the case. Also, why don't we save showering for when we're on land, where there's a normal shower and an endless supply of hot water."

"Party pooper," Rachel mumbled, reaching for her toothbrush as the shower heated up. He walked into her tiny bathroom wrapping his arms around her upper torso and kissed her on the back of the neck.

"Thank you for last night," he whispered turning her around to face him. He kissed her full on the mouth before leaving her alone in her bathroom with her thoughts. She wanted to follow him, to kiss him again, but she refrained. Sean would need her awake and alert. She knew this was going to be tough on him, and she needed to meet him before they went to the gym, if only to calm him and reassure him that he wasn't going to get killed or found out. She also wanted to reiterate that she was unequivocally in his corner.

Rachel heard Tom leave as quietly as he had arrived, stepping out into the hallway and heading away towards his quarters. What she didn't know was that Dorsan had also duplicated his shadowy observation of the night before, smiling to himself as he confirmed what had been only a theory as he watched Captain Chandler hurry off down the corridor towards his quarters.

It looked like it was going to be another incarnation of Tom's previous gym experience with Michael Dorsan. Rachel arrived a few minutes before 0600, Dorsan in tow. He looked like he was going to his execution, but in spite of that, Tom smiled and stepped forward to shake his hand. After a hesitation with Tom's extended hand hanging in midair, Dorsan shook it.

"Mr. Dorsan, I think we got off on the wrong foot, and I would like to try it again. I believe that with Rachel's help, we might be able to make some progress. What do you say?"

Silence, then a quiet, "Yes, Sir."

"Rachel says that you have been showing her Tai Chi?" Dorsan's gaze shifted to Rachel, switched to him briefly, back to Rachel and then to the floor. "Why don't you start with her, and I'll just watch or try to follow, okay?"

Rachel assumed the standard first stance of the form. Tom imitated her as best he could. "Why don't you stand in front of me so I can follow you," Rachel said quietly. Sean nodded and stepped forward a couple of steps, assumed the opening stance and started moving slowly. Rachel followed him having done this part of the form. Tom followed Dorsan until he stopped.

Tom saw that Rachel was frozen mid stance, and he imitated her, watching Dorsan moving Rachel's arms and hands, pulling her left leg wider and centering her. Then he looked at Tom who was frozen in the same position. Tom smiled, and Dorsan sighed looking at him, but instead of starting to adjust his obviously poor imitation of the stance, he turned around to go back to doing the form.

"Sean," Rachel said stopping him in his tracks. He turned, looked at her and a silent communication passed between them. He sighed and looked at Tom again.

He stepped closer to the Captain, stepping to his side. "May I touch you, Sir?" he asked softly. Tom nodded in the affirmative, and Dorsan placed one hand on Tom's stomach and his other hand on his back — the front hand right above his navel and the hand on his back in about the same place. Dorsan cocked his head as if listening to a track of music only he could hear. He gently pushed Tom forwards, then backwards for a number of minutes without saying a word.

."Do you feel any difference, Sir?" he asked softly still not meeting Tom's gaze.

"No." Tom said. He did feel his legs were getting wobbly. "What am I trying to feel, Sean?" he asked deliberately using the name Rachel used. It stopped the young seaman, and Tom thought he might bolt, but he saw Rachel smile at him shaking her head slightly in the affirmative. Dorsan continued.

The fear emanating from him was almost palpable, making Tom all the more determined to make friends with him, that is if his legs didn't give out and he collapsed to the floor first.

"Stand and rest your legs, Sir," Dorsan said finally. Tom stood up and flexed his legs, "then resume your position when you're ready, and we can continue."

After a few moments rest, Tom resumed the stance, and Dorsan started again shifting him forwards and back gently but deliberately. Tom felt a shift inside near his center, something that felt both funny and right. He breathed easier and Dorsan stood up. "That's your Dan Tien. You must center yourself before starting any form or any move. If you're not centered, then you will fail."

"Okay. I learned something similar at the Naval Academy." Again, Dorsan froze. Again, Rachel smiled at him. That's how they proceeded through the form. Tom couldn't help, but notice just how small Dorsan actually was. It wasn't that he was short; plenty of full grown men are short. It was the fact that there wasn't that much of him. _How had he gotten through boot camp?_ Sure he was strong, if his legs were any indicator, but there was just something about him . . . Tom couldn't quite put his finger on it, and because Dorsan's paperwork had been in order, he had to default to the idea that he was supposed to be on the Nathan James. Dorsan just seemed immature physically, but maybe his assessment was thrown off because he wore a shirt five times bigger than he needed. Dorsan looked like he was wearing a shirt that Bernie "Bacon" Cowley would wear, and he was about as big as Lt. Kara Foster.

Tex took that moment to arrive, smiling and dressed in workout clothes: shorts, teeshirt, sneakers and of course, his hat. "Hi all," he said. "What did I miss?" Dorsan looked at Tex and flashed a fearful gaze in Tom's direction. He looked like he was about to run, and Tom saw Rachel make a quick move just out of his line of sight. The three of them had settled into a comfortable flow, and Tex's arrival both startled and surprised everyone. It was like a sudden loud bang in an otherwise quiet setting. Tom saw that Rachel had grabbed Dorsan's arm to stop him from leaving on the run.

Tom turned and put his hand on Tex's shoulder turning him away from Rachel and Dorsan. Tom heard her whispering to Dorsan, as he walked with Tex towards the door. In a low voice, Tom relayed the request that Tex leave. "I know we said to show up every thirty minutes, but he's about to run for the hills. I think I'm establishing some rapport with him. Tell Cmdr. Garnett to skip working with him this morning, okay?"

Tex chuckled, "This is harder than arranging a symphony for a bunch of rock stars. Okay, this is your rodeo, Commodore." Tex disappeared out of the gym to go and stop Cmdr. Garnett to keep this from turning into a circus.

"Sean," Tom walked back to where Dorsan and Rachel were standing, placing his hand on Dorsan's shoulder. Tom didn't react to the hard to miss jump and stiffening of the young man's stance, "it's just going to be the three of us today." Under Dorsan's baggy shirt, his shoulder was tiny.

 _Maybe, his secret was that he had some kind of ailment that slowed growth, or maybe he'd been so starved in childhood that he was inordinately small. He passed the minimum height requirement barely, but he is all skin and bones. I guess there has to be muscle, too. But I'd be hard pressed to find it judging by the bones I feel in his shoulder._

He was so lost in thought that he almost missed Dorsan's sigh, which was so soft, it hardly qualified. It was more of a relaxation of posture than a sigh, as Tom continued to hold him in place with his hand on his shoulder. When he felt sure that Dorsan wouldn't run off, he let him go and they continued, Dorsan stopping here and there to make adjustments on both Rachel and Tom's form. After 45 minutes of Tai Chi, Chen style, Tom's legs felt like rubber. He was in good shape, but it was quite a workout of his lower limbs.

He heard Rachel ask Dorsan to show her some self defense moves. Dorsan's gaze switched to Tom who smiled at him. It was the first time Dorsan held his gaze for more than a second or two. It was brief, but it was a start.

Sean began showing Rachel where to hit if she was attacked: fist to the throat, foot to just below the knee cap, upper cuff palm open to the nose, thumb in the eyes. Each time he showed her a move, he explained it. He was patient, soft spoken and dare he say, gentle with Rachel. When he threw a punch at her, it was slow and deliberate; Dorsan knew she wasn't a fighter and he was taking care not to injure her in any way. After a few minutes of watching the two of them, Tom wondered how he could get back into the conversation.

Dorsan took a deep breath and let it out, and then he turned towards Tom and did something that made both Tom and Rachel smile broadly. "I can try it with you, and you don't need to hold your punches, Sir."

Tom knew that what Dorsan was saying meant more than just a bit of combat play between the two of them. It was a leap of faith on Dorsan's part; he was trying to engage Tom without coaxing from Rachel for the first time that morning. Tom had quietly imitated Dorsan through 45 minutes of non-engaging Tai Chi with silent corrections and even quieter practice. So maybe, since Tom hadn't drawn and quartered him or forced him to walk the plank, he might be loosening up finally. At least Tom hoped so. "Okay, that's great." He was afraid to say much more, not wanting to inject himself too far and cause all that fear and terror to return. Dorsan actually looked calm, and more importantly, not terrorized.

Tom watched as he sink into a stance, and waited before throwing the first punch. Dorsan easily deflected it. He threw a second punch coming in from the other side. Another deflection. Punch, deflect. Punch, deflect. Punch, deflect. They did it for a couple minutes, and Tom's respect for the young seaman grew. Every punch was deflected, and right at the end when he threw a punch without holding back, Dorsan did the Jujitsu maneuver that landed Tom on the floor a few days prior. Tom got up off the mat smiling.

"I can teach you that, Sir," Dorsan said softly, his gaze downcast again. Emboldened by Dorsan's attempt to connect with him, Tom decided to push the envelope a little.

"Sean," Tom said. "Sean, look up. Look at me." Dorsan continued to stare down. "Sean." Slowly his gaze went from Tom's shoes, to Tom's knees, to his chest and finally to his eyes. "Better." Dorsan's pale green gaze met his own. "This is a Naval vessel, and you are a sailor. This is not a slave ship nor are you an indentured servant, so I'd like you to attempt to look me in the eye when talking to me. Tom watched him straighten, squaring his shoulders as if he was unfurling wings on his back. He continued speaking softer this time, "Rachel told me a little about your background."

Dorsan's gaze slid away from him to Rachel. In that moment, Tom saw terror again. _What was so bad about knowing about his background? The boy has to get over all of this. Nothing and no one is going to hurt him on this ship, least of all, me._

"It's okay, Sean. I just told him a little about your rough background in the foster care system, that horrendous foster family, and how you'd lived in the streets." Rachel put in quickly.

"The fact that you survived all that is amazing in itself. That you have Rachel as a friend," Tom continued quickly, "tells me that you are some kind of special." Dorsan looked surprised but said nothing. "I'd like to get to know you better." Again, silent surprise then fear. "I'd like to train with you in the mornings." Silence. "Are you willing to teach me?"

Dorsan's gaze returned to Tom's sneakers. "I'm not very good, Sir," he began.

"Sean, look up. Look at me. Remember, we're the Navy not a slave ship," Tom waited a moment before continuing. Dorsan repeated the same slow rise of his gaze maneuver as before, but this time Tom saw a hint of a smile ghosting across his lips briefly, and then it was gone. At least, he was looking at him.

 _That slight smile from you is equal to someone else rolling on the floor laughing out loud._ "Oh, you liked that, eh?" Dorsan said nothing, but he continued to look Tom in the eye, and he pressed forward before he lost the moment, "I want you to look at me when you speak. We are the Navy, and we are a bunch of cocky bastards — my crew walks with their heads held high. You are a member of my crew, and I guess you missed the memo. I want you to practice being cocky. That's an order, sailor." Tom ignored Rachel's soft chuckle and the look of consternation on Dorsan's face. "Okay, if you can't do full on cockiness, why don't we start with you not always talking to my shoes." This time Tom was sure; Dorsan smiled.

"Yes, Sir," Dorsan held Tom's gaze that time, pulling his gaze up every time he started to look down. _Good, this kid had a chance. He does have heart._

"Why don't you let me be the judge about whether you are good or not. I believe you are, but that might take some time to sink into your head. All I want you to commit to is to show up every morning and give me some time. It would help me out a great deal to learn what you know." Tom was banking on Rachel's statement that Dorsan admired and respected him. If that was true, for now he would take Tom's assessment over his own. In the future, he could self-assess without tearing himself down. At least, that's what Tom hoped.

Dorsan's gaze began to sink. "Sean, are you about to address my shoes again?" It took less time for him to look at Tom that time, "Will you help me out?"

"Yes, Sir," he said. "I will help you out. I'm not very good, but I will try."

Tom resisted the urge to slap him on the back; this kid had been beaten up by everybody, so the last thing he wanted to do was even look like he was going to hit him. Dorsan had the potential to kill him or crumble from fear. Either way, it wouldn't be pretty. He placed a hand on Sean's shoulder again, happier to feel that he didn't pull away like last time. "That's good enough for now, Sean. Good enough. I will see you tomorrow morning, then?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Dismissed then. You must be tired."

"Yes, Sir," Dorsan replied going to the bench to pick up his towel and water bottle. Tom watched him go, and as he walked away something else occurred to Tom.

"By the way, Sean," Tom kept his voice steady, quiet, "what did you think of the America's Secret Submarines book?" Dorsan's back was to Tom, so he couldn't see the look of panic that passed over his face. Tom waited as the pause lengthened. Dorsan turned back to face him fear in his gaze, so Tom smiled again. He was doing a lot of smiling this morning. Rachel was about to interrupt, but Tom raised his hand slightly and she remained silent. A myriad of emotions cascaded across Dorsan face — from a deer in the headlights panic complete with a balled up fist to a tiny smile and the relaxation of that fist. Tom observed it, but didn't comment just waited. He could feel Rachel itching to jump in. Just when Tom thought he had made a mistake about who was reading the submarine and Naval books, Dorsan spoke.

"The NR-1 nuclear powered submersible was revolutionary in 1966, and I did not know that much about Admiral Hyman Rickover,"

Tom saw Rachel relax out of the corner of his eye, because Dorsan had managed to answer the question and not to run off screaming. All in all, it had been a much better morning than last time their paths crossed.

"Feel free to borrow any of the books in my collection," Tom said. "Just ask me. I like to see my crew learning new things, and its the least I can do since you're going to help me out." It was an open invitation that Tom knew he probably would have to push on him.

Dorsan being the silent borrower of his books had been a guess, based on logical deduction. When Rachel couldn't answer any of his questions about the books he'd loaned her, he wondered. When he hadn't seen any of his books in Rachel's quarters the two times he'd visited, he had become more sure that she wasn't the true recipient of his library. He had asked her again last night, and she had evaded answering by giving him a thoroughly wet and delicious, passionate kiss that he totally enjoyed. He knew she was distracting him, so he filed it away for future reference.

Andrea Garnett called Dorsan a nerdy, book guy, so it only made since that Rachel was borrowing them for him. She trusted and protected this kid, and any other sailor in crew would have asked directly.

There was the other part of the puzzle; Tom really wondered how young Michael Sean Dorsan was, because unless he ate nothing after coming to the Nathan James, it was impossible for him to be that small. He had been on the Nathan James for just over a year. If he ate as much as Bacon said, he should have picked up weight and filled out in the time that he had been onboard. However, if he started out at a disadvantage of being young and starved, it would take time for him to catch up. Tom wouldn't be surprised if he grew another six inches over the next couple years. Tom decided that he probably didn't want to look too closely at the paperwork, because that would mean he'd need to act on it, if he found things out of order.

As Tom watched Dorsan leave the gym, he considered his options: let sleeping dogs lie or research and find out that this kid, who had survived nearly being killed, who had watched the only person who loved him die, and who had been starving in the streets of Chicago, had found his way illegally into a berth on Tom's ship. If he looked too hard, Dorsan would lose it all because of rules that no longer applied beyond the ship he stood on. Dorsan wasn't 10, but Tom was becoming increasingly certain that he wasn't 18 either. He could be wrong, but he didn't think so.

Boys between 15 to 21 could get away with pretending to be just about any of those ages, but younger boys trying to act older was always harder to pull off. There were just some things that a 15 or 16 year old didn't have that most 18 or 21 year olds did. He had commanded enough young men to see the difference.

"We should get dressed," Tom said to Rachel, "and get ready for our day."

"I think I'm going back to sleep," Rachel yawned. "I'm not used to being up this early."

"You're going to have to get used to it," Tom replied. "I need you when I work with Sean."

"He let you call him Sean. I was surprised. I wasn't sure if he was so scared, you could've called him Happy the Clown, or if he was okay with it."

Tom laughed. "I think that he was less scared by the end than at the beginning. I thought he was going to run out of the gym screaming when Tex showed up. I also thought he was going to jump out of his skin when I touched him on the shoulder the first time. However, when I did it again, he was a lot less jumpy."

"I calmed him down. He was close to leaving, but I told him that you and Tex were two of my very good friends. And, he really admires you."

"I'm banking on that," Tom replied. "Also, I knew you were covering for him with all those submarine and ship books." He laughed at her then.

"I'm glad you broached that subject. I was running out of excuses for borrowing some of those books for him. That one that you gave me, was because he was trying to copy the entire book into his notebook. He lied to me, and I ripped his head off. Then I found out his brother wanted to be a submariner. I felt like a real heel, which sent me to beg the book off of you."

By the time she finished telling him the whole story, he was laughing hard. "You were so insistent, and you couldn't even tell me about one submarine in the book. I gave it to you, because you looked like you were ready to tear your hair off your head."

"I was," Rachel laughed. "I have this kid sitting in my lab crying about his dead, big brother and all the dreams they had together about being saved by the Navy."

"By the way, hypothetically, I think I know what his other secret is besides being a submarine and Navy book lover," Tom watched Rachel's laughter fade away to be replaced by a questioning, anxious look. "Let's say that hypothetically, his older brother was supposed to be on the Nathan James. And he died in a motorcycle accident, and the younger brother, who was desperate, replaced him. That would hypothetically cause the younger brother, who was already shy to hide completely. Hypothetically speaking, of course, because if this isn't a hypothetical situation, I would have to do something about it."

"I see," Rachel said quietly. "Hypothetically speaking, if that younger brother wanted to go to the Naval Academy when it came back online, and was learning as much as he could in order to get accepted, hypothetically speaking, would that make things more palatable?"

Tom considered Rachel's statement for a few moments. "That would definitely be a good course of action. Is that, hypothetically, his goal? Because I know that it will take at least a couple years for the Academy to be repopulated even after we fully disseminate the cure. And if, hypothetically speaking, that little brother was then the correct age with a sponsor like the Captain of the Navy's flagship destroyer, it would be quite feasible that he would be accepted. "Of course, we will need to establish some kind of government probably in St. Louis and move forward, then things like the Naval Academy will be on the list for re-creation. We are definitely looking at a couple years on that one, but the Navy will definitely need new, young officers."

Rachel leaned forward and kissed him unmindful that the empty gym could have people walk in at any moment. "You are a very sweet man, Thomas Chandler."

"Sean Dorsan has stolen the heart of the woman I love," Tom said kissing her back. "Besides, I think this kid deserves a break after everything that's happened to him. Hypothetically speaking."

"Should I relay the whole hypothetical thing to him?"

"No, not now. Let's take one panic stricken crisis at a time. Tell him that I will hypothetically keep looking the other way, if he continues to do a good job both in engineering and in learning how to be a cocky Navy bastard."

"Okay," Rachel replied laughing. "I'm not sure how well he's going to do with that last part."

"I'll settle for him not talking to my shoes. One other hypothetical question: How old is Sean? 15? 16?"

"Hypothetically speaking, he just turned 16 last month."

"Is his name Sean Dorsan or Michael Dorsan?"

"That's two questions."

Tom cocked his head to the side smiling, "I'm going to start tickling you if you don't answer me."

"Sean Michael Dorsan. His brother was Michael Sean Dorsan. Don't ask. His mother was a few floors shy of the penthouse." Rachel kissed him again.

"You better stop that," Tom whispered. "Or neither of us is going to make it to work." He caressed one of her breasts under her shirt as she sighed softly.

Then after a few more moments of play, Rachel stood up, and he reluctantly relinquished his hold on her. "This is not the place for that; will I see you later?"

"You have to ask?" Tom's blue eyes twinkled as he smiled at her.

"See you at breakfast."

"I wouldn't miss it, love."

"I wish it was last night," Rachel said as she reached the gym exit, turning back to look at him.

"Me, too. But look forward to what's coming up tonight?"

"What?"

"It's a surprise," Tom grinned at her sweetly.

"I hate surprises."

"You'll like this one." She walked towards the gym exit slowly.

"Do I have to wait until tonight?"

"Absolutely," Tom replied. Rachel sighed, waved and left him alone sitting on the weight bench. _I hope you like chocolate and whipped cream._


	14. Chapter 14 - Waiting for the Gift of Sou

.

I will sit right down,  
Waiting for the gift of sound and vision  
And I will sing, waiting for the gift of sound and vision  
Drifting into my solitude,  
over my head  
— David Bowie (Sound and Vision)

Beatrice handed Rachel the two pain pills she had retrieved from her stateroom, then slipped her hand in her pocket and pulled out a white, Navy-issue sock a few sizes too large for Rachel's foot. Rachel feigned ignorance, looking at the sock like it was an alien with two heads. She knew exactly whose sock it was, because Tom had been looking for it since Tuesday.

"Where did you find that?" Rachel asked trying her best to look innocent.

"It was under your dresser in your room; pushed way back. I dropped the pills, and when I bent down to get them, I saw just the tip of the sock sticking out." Beatrice looked at her expectantly, but Rachel wasn't about to give an answer to her unspoken question.

"Thank you," Rachel took the sock from Beatrice and stuffed it in her lab coat pocket. She took the headache medicine and downed it with a cup of water. _Well, this is awkward._ Instead of looking at Beatrice, she continued to look at the readouts on her computer watching her young assistant out of the corner of her eye.

Beatrice wrestled with not asking any questions. It was clear she knew that the sock was too big for Rachel, and there was only one of them, so it must have gotten lost when someone took their shoes and socks off. Beatrice wanted to ask who that someone was, but she was too polite to broach the subject without an invitation, which Rachel was never going to give. They continued working as the morning dragged on towards the lunch break. With the sock in her pocket, she felt closer to the Captain, and more than once her mind drifted to his surprise coming that evening.

 _I normally hate surprises, but I kind of like this one._ The fact that something was going to happen that she had no control over, made her feel vulnerable and exposed in a way. It was a new feeling, but the whole relationship was new. She couldn't say that she liked the feeling of not being in charge, because she had spent her entire life proactively taking over. However, with Tom it seemed less necessary for her to know every facet of an event prior to it happening. With him, she could relax and be less vigilant, on guard and controlled. The 'silly factor' cropped up more and more as they got to know each other much to her delight. Of course, she wouldn't admit that fact to anyone. She was uber capable and didn't need to rely on anyone.

That had been her armor in life, and that wall had stayed up through boyfriends and colleagues. Tom not only made it okay to be warm and fuzzy, but he encouraged it. Who would have known that her stand up, starched and polished Navy man was a big teddy bear in disguise who loved to kiss, hug and cuddle. Rachel didn't exactly feel like a kid at Christmas — not that she had ever celebrated Christmas — but, she was excited about tonight. She also wondered if it would be this wonderful a year from now. _You're rolling the tire, Rachel. Stop it._

Her mind wasn't on her work today. In fact, her mind hadn't been on anything since she had first kissed Tom. Every day since, she discovered new levels of love and decency in the man.

"Do you want me to start the counter?" Beatrice was asking interrupting her ruminations.

"Huh," Rachel said. "Yes, that would be fine, Beatrice."

"You're mind is elsewhere today," Beatrice said smiling.

"Sean actually managed to teach the Captain something this morning," Rachel dodged the obvious question. "We met this morning, and while I was afraid he was going to faint dead away, he managed to hold his own. The Captain even got him to admit that it was he who wanted all those ship and submarine books. They've also set up morning workouts going forward."

"Wow! I know Captain Chandler can be persuasive, but he actually got Sean to talk to him?" Beatrice's dark eyes twinkled as she smiled. In the short time they had been together, Rachel had come to love Beatrice. She was possessed of an understated beauty, probably because she was blissfully unaware of her prettiness. Her dark brown skin was flawless, and she had a simplicity of look that was designed to make things easier and more relaxed. In her bright yellow Navy shirt and jeans, her skin almost glowed. As Beatrice had gotten happier, she smiled and laughed more. She had inner beauty that lit her eyes as it softened her features. You couldn't help but smile around her.

Sean had once said that to be in her space was akin to feeling like you were warmed in summer rays regardless of the weather. Sean, of course, had a major crush on her, but the description seemed true enough.

"Yes, I was quite surprised, because when I talked to Sean before we went to the gym, he was almost puking. He was just that scared. By the end, he actually smiled at the Captain. I was stunned, but I must admit, the Captain is tenacious. He told me that he was determined to befriend him; that people under his command were not afraid of him and that Sean wasn't going to the first."

"Really?" Beatrice's eyebrows raised. "That is amazing."

"Yes, by the time it was over, Sean agreed to help him."

Beatrice laughed. "Well, the Captain is not known for giving up. After Tuesday, I thought you would have to drag Sean bodily down the corridor to the gym, but I also thought that if he didn't show up, Captain Chandler would have gone looking for him."

"I almost had to do that, and I told him the Captain would come looking if he didn't show, so he finally agreed after telling me at least five times that he was incompetent."

"That's too funny."

"The Captain felt that if they could stand in the same room without a panic attack on Sean's part, he could progress from there. He actually started calling him Sean. I thought he was going to faint the first time he did it, but Sean took a few deep breathes and kept going. I was so proud of him."

"The Captain is in charge of a destroyer full of personalities, so I guess he knows how to handle folks. Since he knew about Sean's past, I guess he figured he would start by being in the same room with him without demanding anything of him. That's pretty smart."

"Yes, we figured the plan out last night at dinner. Tex was supposed to show up at 6:30, but when he did, Sean was ready to throw in the towel and run for the hills. Tom turned Tex around and got him to leave and to stop Andrea Garnett from showing up, too. I calmed Sean down, and then the three of us started working on Tai Chi forms again. At the end of all of that practice, Sean asked the Captain to throw punches at him which he easily deflected. It was a big step. At the end, he even took the chance to throw the Captain to the mat, and when Tom didn't kill him, it really broke the ice. He even agreed to teach Tom how to do it."

"That's so good. You should have introduced him months ago."

"Maybe, but I don't think he had enough confidence back then. He was hard pressed to talk to me, and things were different. The world hadn't totally fallen into the abyss."

"Yeah," Beatrice agreed. "Do you think that now that we have the cure and President Michener, there will be a United States again?"

"I hope so, sweetie. I want that more than anything else in the world."

"May I ask you another question?"

"Sure."

"About that sock?" Beatrice's curiosity had gotten the better of her.

"You may not," Rachel smiled as she replied.

"Okay then. I understand." Beatrice grinned in return. "Off limits?"

"Totally." Rachel said no more, but she couldn't quite stop smiling, and she knew Beatrice saw it.

"Looks like this morning was a win all the way around."

"Yes, it was a really good morning." _And a great last night._

Dark clouds rolled in from the east as a storm rolled in blotting out the sun. It loomed over the ship as the crew desperately scrambled across the teetering deck to reach the hatches that led to the inside. Shadows swallowed the last rays of light as thunder crackled in the caliginous sky. The rain started hard, pouring own in sheets, drowning out the view as the wind caused monstrous waves that slammed into the ship.

On the bridge, the Captain and Commander Slattery sat in their respective chairs looking out the front windows. Others on the bridge made their way to their posts, holding on to things that were bolted to the deck. The wind howled and even though it was midday, it looked like early evening. Tom was waiting to have a meeting with Commander Garnett, knowing that she needed to know about Dorsan's situation. It wasn't fair to her that she be left out of the loop, and he needed her to either agree to keep and eye on him, or Tom would need to transfer him to another position. The engine room could be hazardous, and he didn't want to be responsible for the young man's death should something go wrong. While he didn't doubt the capability of the young seaman, with age came maturity and better decision-making. Not that the difference between 16 and 18 was that much different, but Dorsan hadn't even attended Naval boot camp, so what he knew could only be spotty at best.

Tom also wanted to talk to her about another young sailor: Ensign Theodore Barnes. He knew that Barnes had come straight from Annapolis to the Nathan James, and Tom was pretty sure that he still had some of his Naval Academy textbooks with him. Barnes was also kind of on the short side, and was only 19 years old having gone to the Academy when he was 15. He thought that Barnes might be the perfect person to move Dorsan in with.

Not that Tom had anything against Dorsan's three bunkmates, but they were in their early twenties. Tom felt that Barnes might be a better fit for Dorsan. It might raise some eyebrows, because Dorsan was enlisted and Barnes was an officer. However, once Tom explained to Commander Garnett that Dorsan had been looking towards going to the Naval Academy, he figured that would upgrade his status. In this wacky world they now lived in, he could get away with it. Tom also wanted to talk to her about changing his shift from 2000 hours to the afternoon shift. That would put him on the same schedule as Barnes. He knew that last part was probably going to be a challenge, because Dorsan was used to working when no one was around — not good even for a loner.

Tom was surprised at how quickly he had taken to Dorsan; he could understand why Rachel liked the kid so much. Dorsan had guts. He had improved his lot in life when he should have just given up on it. In spite of his horrendous upbringing, Dorsan excelled and had hopes and dreams. He could have gone the way of his mother turning to drugs and drink; instead, he pushed himself both mentally and physically striving for perfection in everything he attempted. And, Dorsan had successfully hidden in plain sight on his ship for over 10 months. Tom wondered why no one noticed how thin he was, and made a note to ask Rachel about that later on.

At the thought of later on with Rachel, Tom smiled. He had the perfect surprise — he had scrounged up a can of Redi Whip, chocolate sauce, maraschino cherries and chocolate kisses. He could get the ice cream from the freezers right before he went to her quarters. They could have a party, and he also wanted to taste what chocolate sauce and whipped cream tasted like on her body. But that was after the ice cream sundaes. He dragged his mind back out of the gutter and concentrated on the raging storm outside ignoring the raging and stormy hormones inside his body. He was on the bridge; he couldn't risk any parts of his anatomy presenting itself for the world to see. _Sometimes being a man was hard, no, that's the wrong word. It was really fun to have these feelings again, even if they were inconvenient._

Tom looked over to where his XO and very good friend was sitting in his chair. Slattery regarded him thoughtfully and smiled. "Some storm, eh?" Tom said, and Slattery laughed.

"Yes, it takes a lot to get this ship to rock. These are near hurricane force winds, I think."

"I'm about to have a meeting with Commander Garnett. I'd like you to join us."

Slattery looked expectantly at Tom. "Something I should know?"

"I'll get into all of that in the meeting," Tom said. "It's nothing horrendous. Just a little housekeeping."

"Okay," Slattery replied. "On a day like today, a little break from watching the weather pound us to a pulp might be in order."

Commander Garnett popped her head through the portal looking in the Captain's direction. Tom smiled at her, rose and made his way to where she was standing. Commander Slattery did the same.

"Let's talk in my wardroom. I could use a cup of coffee," Tom said.

"Yes, me too. The engines are getting a workout today offsetting the waves from the storm."

"I won't keep you long," Tom said. "I know you have your hands full."

"I have a good crew, and Lt. Wilson is quite good at his job, not as good as Lt. Chung was, but close to. So, I have a few minutes to myself."

"Okay, this won't take long." The three of them walked down the corridor and entered the Captain's wardroom. Tom reflected for a few moments at how much action this room had witnessed lately. He wanted to laugh remembering, but he squelched that line of thinking, because it caused him to think about what he and Rachel had been doing there not 24 hours prior. _All roads lead to Rachel. Stay on topic, Chandler._

When they were seated with beverages, Tom began, "I'm going to propose a hypothetical situation. It can't be an actual situation, because then I would need to act on it, which I definitely do not want to do." Both Slattery and Garnett shook their heads in agreement. He went on to explain Sean Dorsan's situation, his dream to go to the Naval Academy and his general state of feeling completely worthless and overcompensating.

"I like this kid," Tom finished laying out the facts, "he's got guts. He has also successfully hidden on this ship for over 10 months. I saw him in his workout clothes on Tuesday and today. When I touched him, I realized there was nothing there, which led me to hypothetically ask Rachel if the secret she was protecting was the fact that he was underage. After getting that confirmation, I began to map out a course of action that will hopefully lead to the addition of another fine, young officer in a couple years."

Slattery couldn't stop laughing. "How did he know how to do his job?"

"Well, he didn't know that much when he first came on board, but Andy worked with him and in about a week, he had read and memorized every manual Andy gave him, and could do the job better than some of my more seasoned crew members. And, when I see him in his work blues, he doesn't look like a waif, either. Either your eyes are playing tricks on you, or he's done something to his uniform."

"The kid I saw this morning is the size of a string bean which is what caused me to ask about it. What I found out was that it was his older brother, Michael who went through boot camp and was assigned to the Nathan James."

"The brother who died," Garnett said.

"Yes, his brother told him to take his place before he died, and a shady friend helped him to get fake identification papers and cards. He also got a picture taken wearing his brother's uniform."

"It must have been falling off of him," Garnett chuckled, "if what you say is true."

Tom looked thoughtful. In the picture, the uniform was loose, but not falling off him. "He must have something under the uniform to make him look bigger. The reason I noticed this morning was because he was wearing a really baggy shirt about five or six sizes too big. I had occasion to touch him on the shoulder and realized he was skin and bones. Because he was starved for so long, eating good food on the Nathan James is taking time to fill him out. I suspect he isn't even finished growing."

"So, hypothetically, what do we do with him?" Slattery asked.

"Well, he wants to go to Annapolis, and I would be willing to sponsor him, because while you usually need a member of Congress to do it, there is no more Congress. That's why I was I thinking of pairing him with Ensign Barnes. They are closer in age, and Barnes just graduated last year. He might even still have his Naval books, and since the rest of it is more a liberal arts curriculum, it would be easy to get him started."

"He reads everything he can get his hands on anyway, so that shouldn't be a problem," Garnett laughed. "But, I guess you would need me to watch out for him, too."

"I don't think he will need that much handholding. He's made it this far on his own. However, if something goes seriously awry in Engineering, you will need to remember that he just turned 16 last month. That's another reason I want to get him off night duty; if something happens at 0300 hours and he's alone, that wouldn't be good. He could make a really good decision under those circumstances, or he could just panic. If he panicked, it wouldn't really be his fault; he's had no Navy training beyond his own self study, and he's still a child."

"Okay, I get that. What do I tell the others? I mean, you are essentially upgrading his accommodations, and he's still enlisted."

"I've thought about that,"Tom said. "I think if you let it be known that he is studying to go to the Academy, it would be reasonable to consider him a midshipman or officer in training. That way, there should be no argument."

"And, if anybody does have a problem, just send them to me," Slattery put in.

They laughed. "Then, it's settled then."

Garnett rose to leave, "Give me a couple days to rework my schedule and get him on day shift, and you can move him in with Ensign Barnes and Ensign Willis. There's already two extra bunks in there, so it shouldn't be much of a hassle. They're also nerdy book guys, so he should fit right in."

"Okay, in the meantime, I'll talk to Rachel and Sean so we can get this ball rolling. And, remember, this is all a hypothetical conversation."

Garnett waved and left the wardroom, leaving Slattery and Tom alone. "Something on your mind, Mike?" Tom asked. Slattery looked amused and thoughtful.

"Speaking hypothetically, of course, how long has Doctor Scott known about him? Because they seem to be pretty close."

"I'm not sure," Tom replied. "She was definitely protecting him, though. And, after working with him this morning, I can kind of see why. He's got heart; he didn't want to be anywhere near me this morning, but he showed up anyway. He's also been borrowing all of my books from my private library."

"Oh, so Doctor Scott didn't develop a sudden passion for submarines?" Slattery chuckled. "I knew it had to be for someone else. Either that, or she was trying to impress you for some reason, and she doesn't strike me as the "impress you" type."

"She's been borrowing them for him to read. And remember that one I told you about where she was ready to break down and cry if I didn't give it to her?"

"Oh yeah, that submarine book."

"Yes, that was for him. His older brother wanted to be a submariner."

"Jeez, Dorsan has had no good luck." Slattery considered his statement for a moment. "No wonder you want to give him a chance."

"Yes, both he and his brother were hanging on to this dream about sailing the seas together in the Navy. You just never know the reasons behind people's actions."

"He's got guts, though," Slattery laughed. "Brass balls if you ask me, I don't care how terrified he is. I mean, he walked on a Navy destroyer and pretended to be his older brother. And last year, he was half the size he is now, I'll bet. That takes a special kind of guts."

"Or desperation," Tom said. Slattery stopped smiling looking at Tom.

"Yeah, I guess you're right. I mean, what was the worst thing that could happen to him? Get thrown in jail for illegally boarding a ship of the line? He would still have three hots and a cot."

"Exactly," Tom replied. "He had just as much chance if it went one or the other. He continued the dream his brother and he had. It's touching; it's also heartbreaking. Can you imagine one of your children going through what this kid went through. I couldn't even imagine Sam in that position."

"Yeah, I couldn't even imagine any of my kids in that position. His life shouldn't have happened to anyone — child or adult. What's amazing to me is that he's still sane."

"Rachel told me that he didn't know there was any other way to live until he came to the Nathan James. He just thought all the pain and grief he was experiencing was how people lived."

"Wow, that's tragic. Some people should never have kids, that's all I have to say about it."

"I totally agree." Tom agreed.


	15. Chapter 15 - Will You Stay In Our Lovers

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Will you stay in our Lovers' Story  
If you stay you won't be sorry  
'Cause we believe in you  
Soon you'll grow so take a chance  
With a couple of Kooks  
Hung up on romancing  
— David Bowie (Kooks)

The morning dragged by as Rachel worked on various dissemination models in her computer. Nothing was coming up like she wanted, and she was both tired and irritated. Niels Sorenson had requested to stay with her longer, but she felt like every exchange with him only increased her frustration level. He talked and talked about how great he was, how he was had the key to the dissemination if only he was given free range to develop it. He talked about the Russians. He talked about the Nathan James. He talked about the Captain. _He talks and talks and talks and talks. And all I wanted to do was shove something lethal down your throat and shut you up forever._

"You must listen to me, Rachel. I know what I'm talking about." His whiny nasal voice coupled with his heavy Norwegian accent grated on her. He started showing her figures that he had worked out on a pad of paper. She turned away walking back the way he came across the lab. She picked up her sports bottle and took a swig of the lemonade she'd made earlier. It felt good — cold and refreshing — as it went down. It also gave her a moment to collect her thoughts.

Niels came closer waving his pad. "My notes are quite clear. We can work up some simulations, if you just take a look at them."

Rachel looked at his notes briefly, pushing them back at him. "I am working on distribution by powder, like crop dusting."

"That won't work. My way is the only way to go. I have had this idea for a while; you just need to stop and look at it." Sorenson pushed the pad at her again, "I have been working on this for a while, every since the Vyerni." He smiled down at her, grinning like a man who had won the lottery. "I know we've been on opposite sides of this, but now that we are to this point, I think we should be able to work together. We might even become friends in time."

Rachel was incredulous. _Did this monster just say what she thought he said?_ Rachel's head began to throb; she really hated him. Here he was trying to be nice to her; he was a con artist, murderer and monster. He would say anything to gain the upper hand. Rachel watched as he ran his hand through his curly hair, feigning exasperation.

"If you were the last man on Earth, I wouldn't be your worst enemy let alone you're friend. Captain Chandler said I had to work with you; that is the only reason we are breathing the same air." She spoke so quietly that only Niels could hear her. The two guards who accompanied him stood silent by the door neither registering her words or the look she gave him with her back to them.

Niels pulled his pad back, eyebrows raising over an icy blue stare. "I don't know why you feel so strongly against me. We are scientists —"

"No, I am a scientist," Rachel strained to keep from shouting, the tension in her voice constricting the output to a strangled whisper. Her head was throbbing like someone was pounding on it with a hammer. It felt like a toothache in her brain, right between the eyes — excruciating, debilitating. She could hear Niels talking, trying to show her his pad. She was beginning to feel nauseous. She needed to get away from him, but he followed her blathering on about the great science they could accomplish together, as she walked towards the front of the lab. In desperation, she signaled the two guards standing near the door.

"Take him back to his quarters. I'm done here," Rachel walked past Niels.

"Why won't you listen to me?" Niels shouted back over his shoulder as the guards led him out of the lab.

Rachel sat down holding her head. She felt nauseous, and she pushed against the feeling that she was going to vomit. Breathing in and out slowly, she tried to regain her center to settle her mind and stomach. She heard the door open and the familiar steps of Beatrice coming towards her.

"Are you alright, Rachel?" Beatrice asked placing her hand on Rachel's shoulder.

"My head is throbbing — perhaps a cup of tea," Rachel placed her hands to her face. "I get migraines every now and again. Must be the stress; third time this week."

"Third migraine since you've had to work with the monster," Beatrice said quietly. "The Captain should not make you work with him." What Beatrice said was true, but that was the easy way out. Every time she was around him, she got a migraine, and Beatrice was just voicing what Rachel had been thinking all along.

"It is so hard to look at him, and to listen to him makes me physically ill. He won't stop talking, the arrogant bastard, pulling on his beard all the time." Tears slid down her cheeks. "He nearly killed humanity, — over five billion men, women and children — and every time I look at him, I feel that. I see what he's done. We've all done things that are hard to live with, but most people seek redemption. He wants none of it; he thinks this is an inconvenience. He isn't repentant, not in the least."

"Why do you keep talking to him?"

"I need his stability sequence, and he's very careful to give me everything except that. I came up with the idea of the mussels, although he would claim that one. Beyond that, he's been cagey. He keeps saying he can't remember it." Rachel rubbed her eyes as the headache began to recede a little. "Can you get me some tea, sweetie."

Beatrice smiled and stood up. "Sure, Rachel. I'll bring you some tea, too."

In spite of the receding headache, Rachel felt as though the energy was being drained out of her, muscles almost too tired to move. She had gotten a good night's sleep; in fact, her evening had been wonderful. In the morning, before Niels had arrived, she felt good. _His evil must be sapping my energy. I know his voice gives me a headache, that and the stress stopping myself from killing him._

Beatrice returned carrying a mug of steaming hot tea. "I put cream and sugar in it like you like," she said. Rachel gratefully took the cup from her. _Everything gets better after a cup of tea._

"Thank you, sweetheart. I do feel better." Her headache had backed off to a dull roar. Beatrice sat down next to her, finishing the water she was drinking.

"You're not going to give me even a hint about that sock?" Beatrice changed the subject to something happier, and Rachel was grateful for the break. Of course, she knew that was Beatrice's point; she might be young, but she was observant and intuitive. Rachel heard the laughter in Beatrice's voice.

"No," Rachel whispered joining the game.

"Okay," Beatrice said chuckling softly.

Rachel continued to watch the simulations running on the computer screen, but in spite of her best efforts, she smiled and then laughed. She took another sip of hot tea, making some notes as she watched the simulation run.

"Now I understand why you've been so happy for the last couple days, migraines notwithstanding," Beatrice held up her hands in submission, a grin on her face when Rachel looked at her. "Just saying . . ."

"That will be enough of that, young lady," Rachel snapped playfully. They both laughed together, and her earlier headache with Niels was becoming a memory. The tea and pain pills were doing their job, and her good mood of earlier that morning was returning.

Rachel and Beatrice worked along in companionable silence until Niels bleeped on the intercom. "Rachel, if we could get together again, I might be able to re-sequence my original work, but in order to do that, I need access to you and your lab."

"Bloody hell," she said, ignoring the intercom. Rachel guessed he was tired of living in one room and wanted to come back to torment her some more. Now that he knew he was getting to her, he was going to push harder. Of that she was sure. _You should get used to living in a 6 by 9 box_ , she thought. _Because you will be the first person to go to jail after the prisons get back up. A maximum security jail cell is about the same size as the cabin you now occupy._

"Beatrice, get me my water bottle over there," she pointed at the far area of the lab. Beatrice retrieved the bottle, handing it to her.

"Not going to finish your tea?"

"Yes, but I'm thirsty for something cold, too. I don't know, I think I'm just a, what did you call it, a hot mess today."

"Maybe, too much fun last night," Beatrice teased getting the faux-perturbed look in return.

"Don't start," Rachel warned, taking a long swig from the water bottle. The lemonade was refreshing, but weakened by the ice melting inside. It hit her stomach, and suddenly she felt mildly ill again, the rocking of the boat in the storm making itself known to her in a wave of queasiness. As she became more aware of the rocking, her head started throbbing slightly. She took another swig, finishing the lemonade. She handed the empty water bottle to Beatrice. "I think I'll go back to the tea."

Two crew members — Bilson and Ricks, Rachel thought that was their names, hurried through her lab to sure up the door that led to the outside. It was strong and mostly sealed, but with the level of rain and wind currently battering the Nathan James, some water was still seeping in. They came with bags filled with absorbent material, a bilge pump, two mops and a bucket. They assured her, as they mopped up the water seeping under the door, that nothing in her lab would be damaged. The absorbent bags would stop any more water from seeping under the door, and they promised to return to mop again.

"I can do that," Rachel said. She wasn't too good to mop up some water. She had done worse in her life.

They both smiled and slowed at her offer, "Captain's orders," Bilson said. "It's no problem." They left as one cracked a joke and the other one laughed. _Captain's orders,_ she thought. _Of course, he would think of that._

Niels bleeped again on the intercom. _Great, just what I need._ She was slightly nauseous already, and now she was being bugged by this cretin. Part of her wanted to continue working; the other part of her just wanted to crawl into bed and pull the covers over her head. The intercom bleeped again.

Neil's voice scratched out of the intercom speaker. "I have some ideas I'd like to share with you, Rachel," he said. "Can we have a meeting in person? I don't know how long my guard will allow me to talk to you over the intercom. Rachel, are you there?"

Rachel hated her name at that moment, and the headache she'd taken Advil for earlier was returning ten-fold. She felt like she was going to throw up again, so she fished her heavy-duty, migraine medicine out of her desk drawer. The Advil would not be enough. The migraine meds would make her groggy, but it would stop the headache from taking over forcing her into her bed for the next 24 hours. She struggled to open the medicine bottle, finally succeeding in popping two of the pills into her mouth and swallowing them without water.

The intercom bleeped again. Niels sounded annoyed. "Rachel, are you listening to me?" Rachel shut the lid on her computer, as her headache like the storm raging outside splashed waves of pain in her direction. This was the third headache in as many days; in the past, Rachel had suffered cluster migraines before, so it wasn't exactly alien to her. It was the last thing she needed right now. She was tasked with saving humanity, and she was starting a relationship. Both were a priority, and she didn't need to start collapsing in pain from dealing with Sorenson. _Why is it I always get a headache when I see him?_ Rachel thought about it briefly, but then another wave of pain washed over her, and with it, all of her thoughts turned to getting out of the light, before it burned a hole in her beleaguered brain.

"I think I'm going to need to lie down, Beatrice," Rachel spoke softly as dizziness pummeled her resolve. "I must be more tired than I thought." Beatrice helped her to her feet and over to the cot she kept in the back of the lab. It had been quite a while since Rachel had napped there, but now it felt like a small slice of heaven as she lowered herself onto the cot, sinking into the soft pillow with a sigh of relief.

Beatrice covered her up, before turning down the lights. "I'll be back a little later. I've turned off the intercom, so you won't be disturbed."

"Thank you," Rachel said, pulling the ultra plus soft blanket over her head, drifting into a hypnagogic state on the threshold of sleep but not quite unconscious. A hallucination stirred, a vision complete with the smell of caramel corn and the sounds of tinkling bells. It was lovely by comparison to the sickly smell she had from before. While she knew it was just a pleasant dream drummed up by the nature of her circumstances, it still offered solace. The fact that she could only see it through a puzzle piece opening sort of like staring through a keyhole was odd. Surrounding that keyhole was waves of neon red, sickly green and splotches of fuchsia dropped on top like chunks of vomit. She concentrated on the puzzle piece hole.

Rachel had felt dizzyingly sick only moments before; the detached vision offered something banal and sweet to concentrate on, to block out the other. As she watched the scene unfold through the shards of her conscious mind, all around the pleasant vision, jarring colors swirled, coalesced and shot out from the periphery of the very clear vision of the carousel. She focussed on what was going on in the center of her mental screens, or more importantly, she ignored the chaos that the headache was causing.

They were on a carousel; Tom was wearing his sparkling dress uniform and she was outfitted in a teal green summer dress, sleeveless with frilly edges and a lighter green sheer overlay. It was girly; it was feminine and there was a light breeze to make her dress fluff up and swirl about her legs, not quite like the famous scene of Marilyn Monroe standing over a subway grate, but enough to be sweet and sexy. To her delight, she was also wearing lip gloss. Her hair flowed loosely about her shoulders and down her back. They were on the carousel going round and round; she was sitting side saddle on a large ceramic and plastic horse, and he was astride the one next to her. Rachel viewed the scene as a person standing outside the carousel, and at the same time, she could see the scene from inside herself looking out at him. Tom reached out and grabbed the brass ring and gave it to her. He slipped it on her finger, and to her amazement it fit just perfectly.

They were laughing; the world was normal and none of the nightmare of the previous 10+ months existed. She heard Tom talking: I fall in love the way I fall asleep; slowly and all at once. He kissed her then, like she had kissed him the first time, leaning over and connecting like they would never part. It left her breathless, and he was all the more handsome as a result. The pain had moved away from her head and loomed "over there" although she couldn't figure out where that place existed, and at the moment, she didn't care.

She saw the telltale, red shimmer and disjointed colors that crashed into each other shattering silently. She closed her mind against it even as she felt the pull of slumber. The medicine was working. Rachel felt like all the energy that allowed her to lift her limbs was draining out of her and onto the floor. She didn't need to concentrate on the hallucination anymore; the pain was decreasing as the scene of the carousel spun away into the chaotic, nonsensical swirling at the periphery, and then finally, to Rachel's great relief, there was nothing.

Rachel opened her eyes staring into what she thought was the most beautiful face she had ever seen. She smiled, stretching out like a cat, as Chandler's expression morphed from concerned to amused to loving.

"Are you okay?" Tom asked, gently caressing her cheek. "You didn't answer your intercom, and you got me worried."

"My head was killing me earlier, and I just needed to lie down for a minute," Rachel yawned and sat up. "My stomach was also upset, probably from all that rolling of the ship. As Captain, can't you keep the floor steady?"

Tom laughed extending his hand to help her stand up. "Sorenson called me saying you were ignoring him."

Rachel's mood darkened at the mention of his name. It was reflected in her facial transformation which went from relaxed and smiling to a furrowed brow and downturned lips. She saw the guilty expression on her lover's face, so she tried to cover it with a smile.

"It's okay, Rachel," Tom said. "I know Sorenson can't be easy for you."

"No," she replied softly, "and, the more I have to deal with him, the harder its getting. To say that I hate this would be the biggest understatement of the century." She stood up looking around the lab, confused. "He literally gives me a headache."

"Do you want some dinner?" Tom changed the subject not wanting to ruin the mood.

"Dinner? What about lunch?" Rachel continued to look around, trying to get her bearings. Her stomach was growling.

Tom laughed. "It's 1900 hours. You slept through lunch. I've spent the whole day keeping myself busy, so that we'd have an uninterrupted, non-stressful evening. It also kept me from thinking about you too much, because parts of me are somewhat recalcitrant when I think about you to much. I would have come sooner but I really thought you were busy. When I called the lab earlier, Beatrice said you were tied up."

It was Rachel's turn to laugh. "In a way, I was tied up . . . sleeping. She must have come in and saw that I was asleep."

"She was a little snippy about it, too," Tom said.

"I think that's because you forced me to work with Sorenson," Rachel looked away when she said it. She knew what Beatrice thought of Sorenson; after all, he had killed over five billion people. Beatrice summed him up in one word: devil. She also had a certain level of anger at the Captain, because he "forced" Rachel to work with the devil.

"Um-hum," Tom responded. "Is there anything I can do to change that? I wouldn't want her hating me."

"She doesn't hate you," Rachel laughed. "And, no, you can't change it. I think because I keep getting sick every time I have to see him face to face has her concerned and a bit ticked off."

"You get sick every time you talk to him?" Tom looked concerned again.

"No, only when I am in the lab with him. He's been here three times this week, and I've gotten blinding headaches by the time he left."

"Really?" Tom looked thoughtful. "Then, why don't you limit him to the intercom, or limit the amount of time he's in the lab with you?"

Rachel sighed looking at her closed computer. "I don't want to talk about him," she said finally. "I've just got to figure out how to work with him without vomiting."

"Okay."

"Right now, though, I'm starving . . . Oh Captain, my Captain." She added the reference to the Robin Williams movie, Dead Poets Society at the end as a double entendre.

"Did I wear you out last night?" Tom grinned kissing her on the cheek. "Wait until you see what we're doing tonight."

Despite the fact that they were alone, Rachel could feel the heat rising in her cheeks. Tom puller her closer and kissed her. "It's gonna be fun," he teased. "Look at that. I made you blush?" Between the blushing and laughing, she felt the heat of him and it was having a definite physiological effect on her. Hunger battled sexual need, and hunger was losing.

"Maybe, we could just go to my quarters and skip dinner," she wanted him to kiss her again, to caress her and to take her in the loving, sweet way he'd done last night.

"No, we have to eat. You need to keep your strength up." He was holding her close, which she loved more each time he did it. She felt his tenderness, deep affection and desire.

"Oh by the way," she reached in her lab coat and pulled out the sock Beatrice had given her earlier, "Beatrice found your sock."

She laughed when Tom blanched and then blushed, "Does she know it's mine?"

"I didn't tell her," Rachel paused for dramatic effect, "but I think she figured it out."

"Oh Lord," I hope she's not prone to gossip."

"No, and besides, she has a 50/50 chance between you and Tex."

"Oh good grief."

"I doubt she thinks it's Tex, and I know her. She won't say a word."

"Thank God," Tom said. "We do have to figure out how and when we're going to let the cat out of the bag."

"What?" Rachel looked confused.

"Another American colloquialism. It means to let other people know."

"Oh," Rachel laughed, "I was wondering why you would put a feline in a bag."

It was Tom's turn to laugh. "Let's get some dinner, shall we?"

"I'm famished." As they departed the lab, waking down the corridor together, they kept things professional, passing people going towards the bow, Tom in the lead. Rachel remembered what he had said the night before as they walked, wondering what the surprise was going to be tonight. Tom wanted to spoil her silly when they were together. That's what he had told her last night. He also wanted to make up for her having to work with Sorenson. He promised to love her twice as much to replace the nasty feelings generated by dealing with that monster. She would have to work with him for only as long as it took for her to solve the dissemination problem with the cure.

"I adore you, Rachel Scott," Tom whispered the night before as they fell asleep spooned tightly together in her single bed. "I hope you know that."

"I love you, too," she replied drifting to sleep in the warm, sweet embrace of the man who had broken down her walls and now possessed her heart. _Things can't get any better than this._


	16. Chapter 16 - I'm floating in a most pecu

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I'm floating in a most peculiar way,  
And the stars look very different today.  
— David Bowie (Major Tom)

Rachel stepped into the hot shower feeling the water drum against her body relaxing her muscles. She loved the feeling and wanted it to go on forever, but she also knew that was not possible on a Naval vessel. There was a set amount of everything including hot water. Washing her hair, she noticed the bruising on her shoulders where the bra straps had been.

 _That's odd_ , she thought to herself. _Wonder when I bruised myself? Maybe, it was last night in the heat of passion. That bed is awfully small._ The thoughts made Rachel smile, and her excitement about this evening made her giddy. Tom had promised her a surprise, and while she would eat with him in his wardroom, she was really looking forward to later this evening when they could be alone.

She leaned over in the shower washing her legs noticing another bruise on her calf. _Wow, we must have really been going at_ , she thought as she rubbed the soapy loofa sponge down her leg. As she looked in the drain, she saw long strands of her hair collecting there. Not that much, but just enough to get her attention. She pulled it out of the drain looking at it. It wasn't anything huge or distressing, just a collection of little things designed to annoy. She finished rinsing her hair, turned off the shower and stepped into the small bathroom area.

Looking at herself in the mirror, Rachel turned her head first one way and then the other as she dried her hair with her towel. When she pulled the towel away, there was a few more strands in it. Again, it wasn't a real cause for alarm, but the fact that the hair was long, it told her that it had pulled out at the root. That was troublesome, and she made a note to herself to see if it got any worse. _Might be three days with the blow dryer._ It was a plausible enough explanation, but it didn't explain the bruising.

"Well, if this continues or gets worse, I guess I'll have to confer with Doc Rios," she spoke to an empty room, looking back in the mirror. Nothing else appeared awry, so she went into her main living area and went to the dresser to retrieve some clothes.

"So, what am I going to wear tonight?" she asked herself. Something soft and comfortable. Something that accentuated her curves, but didn't appear trashy. It should look academic enough to pass any scrutiny, but also suggestive enough to get Tom interested. Of course, that wouldn't be too hard. All she had to do was stand in the same room with him, and he looked interested.

Rachel pulled on her bra, matching the straps to the bruises on her shoulders, deciding to place a sock under each shoulder to keep it from bruising more. Not satisfied, she took each sock and wrapped them around the straps a couple times, flattening half of the sock down her back to hold it in place. _Not the sexiest way to wear a bra, but it would have to do._

Rachel picked out a sea foam long sleeve shirt that she had bought when she was in Florida on holiday a few years back. She had worn it once, when she'd gone to dinner with one of the no-strings attached men she'd dated in the past. After that, the shirt had travelled the world with her, waiting, she supposed for the right man to come along to appreciate it. Across the front was a circular pattern and carefully stitched in pink were the words "Miami, Florida." It had a distinct vacation look, and she had thought twice before settling on it. She shimmied into her jeans, pulled on her socks and trainers and braided her wet hair. She decided to forego the blow dryer settling instead for a towel dried, brushed back look away from her face in a long braid that went down her back. Even though she had secured the braid, stray hairs escaped curling softly her face line.

"Good enough," Rachel said to herself. "Now, just a little vanilla mist spray, and I'm ready for the wardroom." She walked back into the bathroom and picked up her spray bottle, closing her eyes as she misted various parts of herself. When finished, she replaced it and headed for the door. She felt good, and she was very happy. After the migraine earlier today, she thought she might still suffer some of the aftereffects, but as fast as it had descended on her, it had left after all that sleeping this afternoon. _I'm just pushing myself too hard. Doing all day, high stress duty, and then up half the night making out like a college freshman. I'm not as young as I used to be. Maybe, he did wear me out._

Rachel pondered the last few days as she walked down the corridor towards the Captain's wardroom, turning a corner and nearly running down Tex who appeared to be going the same way.

"Hi gorgeous," he grinned at her, bowing slightly to allow her to go first. "How's my favorite lady doctor doing today?"

Rachel loved Tex; she wasn't in love with him, but she did love him. In a way, she felt sorry for him, and she prayed for the day when he found someone as lovely as she had found in Tom Chandler. She knew that he had strong feelings for her — he might be in love with her — but she didn't feel that way about him. She never would, and she supposed he knew it. It was hard to deny the chemistry between her and Tom, and Tex was no fool. He couldn't have missed it. So, instead they shared a friendship with words like "I love you" being merged with "you're such a great friend," and that was the extent of it. "I'm doing fine, Tex. How are you?"

"I'm good. Headed to dinner with the Captain?" Tex asked. She could feel the unspoken innuendo in his tone. Tex knew something was up, and he was fishing for confirmation. Rachel wasn't going to give him any ammunition.

"Aren't you joining everybody?" Rachel kept her tone even as she led the way to the wardroom. "I believe all of his officers will be there, too. Right?"

"Yes, indeed-y. And with Cowley's fine cooking, it's the place to be. There's also all that stimulating conversation with the Captain." Tex left the sentence hanging, and she didn't pick up on it just kept walking like she didn't hear him. They walked the rest of the way in silence with the occasional hello to crew members heading to the crew's mess. Rachel deliberately kept her pace steady; she didn't want to appear too eager, and running down the corridor towards the wardroom would be a dead giveaway about her inner feelings. She was also slightly lightheaded, but she assumed that was because she was so excited. The walk seemed inordinately long this evening, even though the ship hadn't grown in the last two hours. It felt like the ship had added another 200 feet to itself since last night. _It's not like you haven't seen this man in years and not in the last two hours. Calm down._

 _—_

Tom smiled broadly when Rachel walked in the door, his smile lessening as Tex stepped in behind her. Tom resisted the urge to stand and hug her, but his gaze hugged her anyway. "Hi Rachel, Tex," his voice was warm, friendly. Rachel sat down on one side next to Tom, and Tex took up the next seat over. Tom continued his conversation with the only other person in the room, Master Chief Russ Jeter. Jeter picked up the narrative again about improving conditions for the enlisted men working in the lower bowels of engineering.

"I want to rig some of those large fans we have stored. It will give more ventilation and cool things off."

"Sounds good." Tom agreed.

"How's it going with you two?" Tom turned his attention to Tex and Rachel, although in all honesty, he is more focussed on Rachel than Tex.

"Pretty good day, Commodore." Tex smiled as he responded. "We've got the teams set up, and we're going to get started in the next couple days. It's going to be fun."

As Tex was talking, Tom's eyes drift to look at Rachel then back to him. Rachel was beautiful as always, and it would be so easy to keep looking at her. She smiled and looked away. _Not now_ , he could almost hear her talking to him. Tex finished, and Tom acts like he's considering what he just heard. In actuality, he was only half listening.

"Sounds good," he replied after a few moments.

"Rachel," Tex smiled putting his arm on the back of her chair. Tom is surprised at Tex's possessive move, at least that's the way he views it. "I'd like to talk with you later about a few things, if you're free."

Dinner was delivered, and there's a period of confusion after the door opens and two men deliver the plates, followed by Bacon carrying Rachel's plate. "I made something special for you tonight, Doctor Scott," he said, sitting a delectable looking salad with all kinds of fixing, mixed and covered with an orangish dressing. He also gave her a basket of his famous rolls, pats of butter and a homemade apple jelly next to it. "The dressing is ginger based, one of the one's I made when I made dinner for the well-to-do." He smiled when he said it and winked conspiratorially.

 _What is this?_ Tom thought to himself, _is everybody making a move for Rachel's affections?_ He dashed the thought upon inception and looked back at Tex who was waiting for the food delivery to be finished.

"Thank you, Bacon," Rachel smiled sweetly in his direction, "that was very kind of you."

Bacon leaned down and whispered something in her ear that Tom couldn't hear. _What the hell?_ Tom cleared his throat none too subtly, and Cowley smiled at him and left. Rachel gave Tom an innocent look, smiled and started digging into her salad.

Tex leaned over, smiling sweetly. "What do you say, Doc? Can I have a few minutes of your very valuable time?" He was talking quietly almost whispering. Tom's good mood was evaporating. _You can't be jealous, Chandler,_ his subconscious piped up _. She adores you. She's just being polite. What does he want to talk to her alone about, and what was all that with Bacon._ He worked on keeping his face neutral, but underneath he was getting more annoyed.

"Alright, Tex," Rachel said between forkfuls of salad, "we can talk after dinner."

Tex leans back triumphant and stared directly at Tom. _What the hell?_

"Would you like a dinner roll, Tom?" Rachel interrupted his increasingly dark thoughts. _He was right in the middle of challenging Tex to a duel with old fashioned guns at dawn on some cold plain in the West._ He looked at Rachel, as she proffered the roll basket in his direction. Her gaze said, _take it easy, baby_. Her smile said, _I'm with you, not matter what._ She shook the basket as if it would rouse him from his funk.

"Thanks, Rachel." He leaned forward, taking the basket, his fingers touching her hand. The connection was instant, strong, sensual. He felt it right into his groin which responded on cue. He saw her eyes widen slightly, her gaze darkening with the connection. She felt it too, and that connection made him feel better. He took the basket and sat back, taking one of the rolls from the basket, relaxing. _I can't believe I'm this jealous. You're a grown man; stop acting like a testosterone overloaded teenager._

"You should try this homemade jam; it's very good," she pushed it towards him, and continued to eat her salad. He sits back, tearing the roll apart putting butter and jam on it.

Commander Andrea Garnet took that moment to hurry in, her blond hair slightly disheveled, her eyes darting around the room nervously. She didn't like to be late to dinner. He gave her a grin letting her know that everything was fine. "Sorry, I'm late, Captain. We had some problems in Engineering, and I've got Wilson and his crew on it." She was breathless, and he wondered if she ran all the way from engineering. Tom knew that she valued punctuality, and was embarrassed by her tardiness no matter how justified.

"No problem, Andrea," Tom smiled at her tolerantly. "Anything I can help you with?"

"No, sir." She sank into her seat next to Mr. Jeter. "Just to be able to sit down for a few minutes is all that I need." Everyone chuckled, as Bacon Cowley came in with another food delivery. He gave her the plate, smiled at everyone, his gaze stopping briefly on Rachel. They seemed to share a silent communication, and then he left. _Now what was that all about?_ Tom thought. Her dark chocolate gaze mets his, holding him there for a minute, then she looked over and starts talking to Andrea.

 _You are so beautiful, Rachel._ The thought ran through Tom's head, and he couldn't help but smile. _Brilliant, sexy and mine. You look stupid grinning like this. Get a grip, man._

He felt something touching his outstretched leg and jumped. _Mice_? He felt it again, this time rubbing his leg. _Shit, what is she doing? She's taken her shoes off_. He put his hand under the table, trying to grab her foot. He can feel the heat climbing inside him, that and embarrassment. She rubbed him again with her toes, tickling his leg. His gaze settled on Rachel who's wearing her most innocent smile as she buttered a roll slowly, sensually. _How does she make running the knife over the roll with butter so damned sexy._ She licked her lips, smiling at a private joke only the two of them shared. He wants her and she knows it.

Tom wrenched his gaze from watching her have sex with her roll to Tex who was regarding him thoughtfully. _Can you see my true feelings, Tex?_

Tom is drawn back to Rachel and her roll, watching her out of the corner of his eye as Andrea and Russ Jeter trade stories about the day. Rachel dripped jelly onto her roll, making slow, swirls to spread it out across the surface. Then she licked the knife and looked up at him sweetly, letting the knife slide slowly out of her mouth and back in and out, her gaze never leaving his. _It' a good thing she's sitting right next to me, because it gives us some privacy or I am going to lose all respect from my crew._ He squelched his urge to moan. _No one could see the looks she was giving me, thank God._ He feels her foot again, and resists the urge to groan. _Stop it!_ _You are driving me crazy._

Rachel took a small bite of the roll, looking down at the remains of her salad. "This dressing was really good. I will have to give my compliments to the chef."

"What kind was it?" Andrea asked her.

"Some ginger concoction Bacon made special for the President."

"Wow, you rate, Doc," Andrea grinned at her.

"I guess," Rachel sighed.

 _Yes, you are special, Rachel._ Tom thought.

Tex had grown quiet, finishing his dinner without his usual banter. _He is probably picking up the signals between us,_ Tom thought _. Ya think? He'd have to be blind to miss them._

Finally, the dinner winded down, and Tom was about to return to the Bridge in order to check in. He didn't want to be called on later this evening. Tex and Rachel stood up to leave, Tex ever the gentlemen, holding the chair for her and wrapping his arm around her to open the door. She took the rolls, wrapping them carefully in a napkin. She'd buttered them and added jelly. _She must really love those rolls_ , Tom thought as he watched them leave.

After Andrea finished up swiftly, she grabbed her plate and gave Tom a friendly wave before departing the wardroom. Tom is alone with his thoughts which unfortunately lean towards the darker jealous areas of his psyche, like the many ways he could kill Tex and not get caught. He smiled at himself dashing those thoughts. _Tex is a friend, a good friend — and the fact that he wants to make moves on my girlfriend, lover, love of my life — what do I call her — future life partner, soulmate?_ He sighed. _I can't believe I'm thinking about this already._

 _—_

"So, Tex, what did you want to talk about?" Rachel turned and looked at her friend. Under other circumstances, she might have liked exploring a relationship with Tex. Like her other relationships, it would probably be a bit shallow. He was a nice guy, and he could be quite the charmer when he set his mind to it. Instead, she was falling deeply into this relationship with Captain Chandler. Although she had only kissed him a short while ago, she felt like their relationship had been going quite a bit longer than that.

Shallow was also something the Captain didn't do, and with him, she had to admit, she didn't do it either. She liked his depth, the way he had a smile only for her, the way his blue eyes twinkled and a list too long of things that made him special. Mostly, she loved the fact that she felt safe with him, cherished and loved.

"Well, I was just wondering what's up with you and the Commodore?" They were standing on the flight deck alone, the breezes soft and the night a dark curtain of twinkling stars above. Tex didn't miss much.

"Why do you ask?" Rachel decided not to answer the question. They were standing side by side, close, perhaps too close considering her current status.

"I can't help but notice the way he looks at you. Something's changed, and I guess I was wondering should I still be holding out a candle." Rachel didn't quite know what to say. They had been playing this game for quite a while, a delicate dance where Tex pushed and Rachel pushed back. She hadn't expected him to be so forward.

Rachel didn't know what to say, so she said nothing. She didn't want to hurt Tex's feelings, but her path was elsewhere. She heard him sigh.

"I guess my intuition was right." She heard the sadness in his tone.

"Tex, I—," she had to say something. She looked at him trying to think of a way to not hurt him, but it was impossible. Because the fact of the matter was that she had fallen for Chandler hard, and her heart was completely wrapped up in his.

Tex held up his hand, "No need to explain. I've seen his looks and yours. He adores you, you know." Rachel didn't know what to say. Sometimes Tex could be spot-on even if it meant he couldn't have what he desperately wanted.

"And, I adore him. I have for a while," Rachel whispered. It just slipped out; she hadn't meant to voice her feelings.

"I never would have thought you'd fall for a Navy man," Tex chuckled. "You hate all those rules they have."

"I know," Tex was regaining his composure, and he was a very good friend. "Are we still friends?"

"Without a doubt. You two aren't married yet, and if he does anything to hurt you, just let me know." Rachel giggled.

"What are you going to do, defend my honor?"

"Hell no, I'm going to toss his sorry ass off the side of his damn fine destroyer." Rachel looked at Tex then, her gaze serious to his lighter look. "Look, if he makes you happy, then I'm happy for you two. God knows, in this crazy world, to find love is a miracle."

"Thank you for understanding," Rachel leaned in to hug him.

"But," he holds her at arms length, "if anything goes wrong, I will make a great rebound boyfriend. And, I'll kick his ass for being a jerk, too." They both laughed, and Rachel knew that while most of that was a joke, not all of it was. While she felt bad for Tex in some ways, she felt better that they had this talk.

"He adores me?" Rachel asked quietly. It was more a musing out loud on her part.

"I'd have to be blind not to see how he looks at you. Tonight, I thought he was going to fall off his chair as you ate that dinner roll."

"So, is that why you asked to speak to me alone?" Rachel laughed at him, "to piss him off?"

"Nah, I wanted to have this talk, because I felt that things had changed for a couple of days now." Tex paused then said, "and yeah, it did piss him off, didn't it?"

"You are so bad," Rachel slapped him playfully then her tone sobered, "you make me laugh. I wouldn't want to lose our friendship."

"No worries on that score, darlin'" Tex hugged her tightly. "I'm nothing if not loyal . . . and a bit stupid to boot." He turned and walked across the flight deck. "You have a good evening, Doc. Thanks for your honesty."

Tex sauntered off across the flight deck, disappearing through a hatch leaving Rachel alone. _I wonder if we're that obvious?_

Rachel watched Tex disappear, then looked down at the napkin full of rolls she was still carrying. Bacon was such a nice man; when he realized that Sean had been starved as a child, he had made him the rolls complete with homemade jam. When Bacon had whispered to her that although he knew she'd enjoy them, he had given her so many, so that she could pass them on to Seaman Dorsan. It was one of the sweetest things anybody had ever done as far as she was concerned.

Bacon had asked her to give them to him, so that Sean wouldn't be embarrassed. He had also whispered that if Sean needed more food to just look him up after main mess, and he would see to it that he got extras. The people of the Nathan James were so much more than a crew; they were family, and it was one of the things that had allowed her to lower her walls around them. People like Bernie "Bacon" Crowley reinforced her belief that humanity was worth saving. In that one small gesture, he showed the best humanity has to offer. Rachel would pass along the rolls and her thoughts on to Sean, who was wrestling with the idea that everyone wasn't out to hurt him and that humanity was this conglomeration of mercenaries, perverts and thieves.

She walked back to her lab, looking for a plastic bag to put the rolls in. She would give them to Sean later that evening. She had told him to come to her lab when he awoke, that she needed to talk to him about changes that were coming down the pipeline. The dinner rolls, she hoped would give Sean a positive outlook so that when she talked about change, he wouldn't automatically think his life was coming to an end.

—

"Do you trust me?" Rachel asked. The rolls were a failure, and had served only as something Sean could slowly take apart just like he felt his life was coming apart.

"Yes." Sean's voice is a whisper. Rachel sighed looking at him sitting on one of her lab stools, hunched over, eyes downcast, shredding one of the dinner rolls Bacon had given her. His heightened level of fear worried her.

"I trust him," she continued quietly. "He won't hurt you." She watched the little chunks of bread falling from his hands into a small pile on the floor. She didn't comment, but she didn't give him another roll either.

Sean sighed. "I don't like change. It usually means something is going to go horribly wrong." He was still not meeting her gaze; he looked small, scared and defeated, tearing off pill sized chunks of the bread, rolling it in his fingers and then dropping it, only to repeat the process as he talked. He seemed completely unaware of what he was doing, and Rachel regretted giving him the roll prior to starting this conversation.

"Sean, Seanie," she used the name his brother used, "this isn't going to be horrible. It's going to be good."

"It's never good," he still refused to look at her and his left leg was bouncing quickly — up, down - almost like a tremor, but she knew that was his nerves. He wanted to run, to hide and hope that everyone forgot about him, and he was tearing the bread apart like terror was tearing at him, shredding his psyche slowly. Rachel continued knowing that if she stopped, he might do something stupid. She needed to get the full picture across to him before he went into full on fright.

"This is not going to be horrible. I promise. You just have to give it a try, and if you don't like the changes, we can do something about it. I think you're going to like them, though."

"What if Captain Chandler figures it out," Sean looks at her swiftly then back at the floor. Rachel watched him for a moment, sighing and deciding to take a chance. She'd let him in on the 'unofficial' secret, even though Tom wanted to wait.

"He has already "unofficially" figured it out."

"Shit!" Sean swore bolting to his feet looking around her lab frantically, as if Tom and a military escort was standing there ready to throw him overboard. He looked ready to bolt, and Rachel stood up grabbing him by the shoulders, physically pushing him back down on the stool, noting the tears welling him his eyes.

"Watch your language," Rachel said, giving him an order to concentrate on. It was not that she was that much against cursing, but she wanted to add some normalcy into his panic.

"Sorry," Sean responded, again looking down, breathing quickly, trembling. Rachel felt the fear emanating from him, as she watched him attempt to reign in his inclination to run. His leg was going at a fever pitch to the point where she placed her hand on his thigh to stop it shaking it. It stopped immediately upon contact, but he didn't look up.

"You are very small, thin and you don't have your full growth," Rachel talked quickly, quietly, "It was very apparent when you were in your exercise clothes."

"I never should have agreed to that. I told you. Now I'm going to get kicked off the ship, as it should be, because I'm not worthy to be a sailor," The panic rolled through him, tears cracking through his anger and self loathing.

"No, you are not going to get kicked off the ship, Sean. Listen to me," she grabbed his hands in an attempt to stop him from spiraling down that dark drain to his past horrible existence. "Look at me."

He looked up suddenly, desperate — his gaze that of a cornered animal. "I can't go back there. I can't". He screamed at her trying not to cry but failing miserably, the ghosts from his past rearing their ugly heads. He wanted to wring his hands, but Rachel was holding them, stopping him.

"Sean," Rachel raised her voice to get his attention. "Tom, uh, the Captain isn't going to get rid of you. In fact, he's going to help you. That's why things are changing, so that when the Naval Academy comes back online, you'll be ready to apply. He's even going to sponsor you and write you a recommendation if you work hard, which I know you will."

Rachel waited for what she's said to sink in the reiterated it for good measure. "The Captain is going to help you, and he is not going to kick you off of the Nathan James." She emphasized the latter portion of her sentence, still holding his hands. She suspected that was the only reason he was still sitting there. "Did you hear me, Sean?"

Sean slowly looked up, his gaze haunted, trapped. "What if I mess up? What if I can't do it?" His voice was almost a whisper and his body was shaking, a sheen of perspiration on his forehead. "Let me go," he said softly.

"No," Rachel responded in kind matching his softly spoken request. "I feel like you're going to run, and there's no need for that. Let's go over a few things first, before you run screaming into the night, okay?"

"Okay," he sounded defeated, resigned. "You can let me go. I won't run."

"Okay, Sean. I have your word now. All I want you to do is listen."

He sighed and nodded his compliance with her request.

"To answer your questions, you are very smart, and there's nothing you can't do with concentration and hard work. You work so hard already, so the idea that you won't be able to accomplish something is silly."

"I'm not that smart, Rachel," Sean said. He had resumed his hunched over, eyes downcast position on the lab stool. Rachel sighed.

"That's not true, Sean, and I don't want to argue with you about that. I know you're smart, so just trust me on that part. Look, even if you were average, you could still get through the Naval Academy with hard work and time. So, the fact that you are a really smart kid, makes it that much easier."

Sean looked up and opened his mouth to say more, but Rachel stopped him by raising her hand. He closed his mouth and went back to looking down. "Maybe knowing this will help you relax a little, because you'll know that the Captain has your back. He's a pretty powerful person to have in your corner. Also, even though he's aware of your situation, in an unofficial capacity, he's trying really hard to be your friend."

"I noticed," Sean mumbled. "I thought he had lost his mind." Rachel started laughing in spite of herself and the situation.

"No, he's completely sane, Sean."

"Then, why would he want to be friends with me?" Rachel sobered.

"The same reason I'm friends with you; you are not that bad or unworthy. We've talked about this."

"Well, I thought you were out of your mind, too." Even though his head was bowed, she could see the slight smile on his face and she relaxed. _Okay, he is listening more than he's panicking._

"Sometimes I wonder about my sanity, but that's a discussion for another time."

"Now, what was your other question? Oh, yeah, what if you mess up. I'm going to assume that if you mess up, then you'll have to deal with his discipline, and you'll do better the next time." Sean shuddered at the word 'discipline' but said nothing.

"I am reasonably confident that he won't flog you, if you mess up. I believe that flogging, walking the plank and keel hauling have been outlawed since the 1800s or so, So, you probably would incur extra duty shifts or something like that, or if you really piss him off, maybe a lecture until your ears fall off.. If your infraction were incredibly bad, he might order you to hop around the gym on one foot."

Sean's looked at her his eyes widening, and Rachel was relieved to see a small smile spread into a grin. She had gotten him back from that precipice of fear that he fell into when faced with change. It's the reason Rachel wanted to talk to him before the changes started, so that he wouldn't panic as they happened.

"He is a kind man," Rachel continued. "He likes to help his crew achieve their goals, and he was very happy to hear that you aspire to the Academy."

"What does he want in return?" The question didn't surprise Rachel. She knew that Sean came from a transactional background. Every good deed meant you had to give the bearer something in return. Everything came at a price.

"Nothing. He just wants to help you," Rachel replied smiling at him.

"Everybody wants something. Nobody does something for nothing, and I figure he doesn't want sex from me, because he has you, uh, I mean, oh crap —" Sean stopped talking. _Double surprise_.

"Now how would you know that?" Rachel was stupefied, amused and embarrassed. Sean said nothing. "Sean, look at me." He continued to look down. She cupped her hand under his chin and forced his head up. "Look at me."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say that," his face is beet red, his leg tremor returning at a faster, furious rate, "I wouldn't, didn't say anything to anybody. Don't hate me. It was an accident that I saw him leaving your quarters, a couple of times at 5am. Nobody else was around at that time in the morning, so I figured, well, I, uh." He fell silent looking at his feet.

Rachel sighed. "Bloody hell. And you're right, he doesn't want to have sex with you." Rachel chuckled then started laughing, pushing his shoulder playfully. "And, if you say anything to anyone, I'm not going to be happy."

"No, nobody. I never would." His slip broke the tension between them, "not even if the enemy tied me up and stapled my eyelids to my skull."

"Oh, that's so gross," Rachel continued to look at him gauging his level of fear before continuing, "Now, you know why I trust him. I wouldn't go to bed with someone I didn't trust."

"Okay." Sean looked at her, his gaze serious, "Do you love him?"

"None of your business," Rachel laughed at him and his cheeks reddened even more. Then she whispered, "Yes, I do love him."

"Is he nice to you?" Sean looked serious, his pale green gaze questioning, anxious. She thought it was sweet that Sean would worry.

"He is very nice to me, Sean." Rachel tousled his hair, "Enough on that topic. Will you calm down now? Will you trust him? I"m telling you, he won't hurt you. I promise."

"I'll think about it," he still sounded dubious.

Rachel reached out again this time tweaking his ears, watching as he scrunched his shoulders and leaned away from her. "Don't!" he said scratching his ear. She did the same thing to his other ear, and he scrunched again and started laughing. "Okay, I'll trust him, only stop tickling my ears. God, I hate that."

"My secret weapon to gain compliance," Rachel smiled at him sweetly, and he frowned at her in return, but with a hint of a smile still gracing his lips.

"And remember, this is all 'unofficial.' If it was known officially, he would be compelled to act on that information. That's what he told me, so I think you're pretty safe in that regard. Worst case scenario, I take full responsibility for you, and you become another assistant of mine like Beatrice. I doubt it will go that way, though."

She offered him another roll, "Do you think you can eat this one and not shred it all over my floor?" Sean looked down at the small pile under his stool.

"Sorry, I'll clean that up. I always shred things when I get nervous." _Shredded like his life has been, oh my._

Rachel watched him relax, his leg tremor slowing and then stopping. _I wish I could get my hands on the person who hurt you so badly, Sean. I would kill them myself, and not give it a second thought._

 _—_

 _At long last, I am in my quarters waiting for you to show up._ It had been a long, stressful day, and Rachel felt overdue for Tom's surprise promised earlier. For the fourth time that day, she wondered what Tom was planning, and for the fourth time that day, she didn't have a clue. He said it would be fun, and that she would like it, but the exact nature of his surprise eluded her.

"Wonder if I should take another shower," she thought out loud and decided against it. She had done nothing but talk this evening: over dinner in the wardroom, outside to Tex, inside with Sean — if moving your mouth was a sport, she would have won a gold medal for all of that talking. That was the only physical activity she'd had, so nothing was sweaty or smelly. Her jaws should be hurting, though. Rachel reviewed her discussion with Tex, wondering how much of her relationship with Tom had been picked up by rest of the crew in the few short days since they had officially been together.

Sean had been a surprise, although the way he prowled the ship at odd hours made his revelation about the two of them less astounding. Sean had told her once that he could fade into any background like a superhero. She forgot which superhero, but he had been pretty proud of it. She figured that Tom probably walked right by him without registering his presence. Rachel smiled to herself; well, that would be a revelation to Tom if and when she told him. She knew that Sean would remain a clam about it, so she didn't worry about him gossiping about what he observed.

It had actually had a positive influence on an otherwise high stress talk between them. Commander Garnett had made no moves in changing Sean's schedule yet, and he was now prepared when she did. Rachel suspected that Garnett would have a harder time filling that night position now that Sean was moving to day shift. Most people preferred the light of day not the nocturnal loneliness that went with night shift. She was pretty sure that's why Garnett had requested a couple days to make the switch. She'd need to draft someone to take his place, and set up a rotation schedule again. Tom had been pretty clear that he wanted Sean off the night shift altogether, so he wouldn't even be able to sub.

Tex had been an interesting turn of events. He had a degree of intuitiveness and empathy that was sometimes astounding. Rachel hadn't been prepared for their conversation tonight, but when faced with it, she felt her only recourse was honesty. Tex was too good of a friend to lie to him straight out. If he hadn't brought it up, she wouldn't have broached the subject, but since he did, he deserved the truth.

Tex took it as best as could be expected under the circumstances, and she was glad that they remained friends. Rachel wondered how friendly he'd be with Tom after this, although Tex didn't strike her as the kind of guy who would take out his frustrations on a personal level. She was pretty sure that they would rock along as before, only Tex would know that her heart was elsewhere.

Her heart was Tom's. . . . that was a big one. Every time Rachel thought about Tom, her heart clenched in that warm and fuzzy way that told her the depth of her feelings for him. How all this had happened so quickly was beyond her. Rachel still asked herself the question from time to time, more so lately because things were moving so fast. And, the answer from her subconscious was always the same: _sometimes in life you are destined to be with someone. When you find that someone, it takes less than a nanosecond for your soul to figure it out._

Rachel remembered the first time she laid eyes on Thomas Chandler, all bright white and Navy clad, a big smile, those oh-so-sexy blue eyes, close cropped blondish grey hair and all that spit and polish. _What was not to like?_ But wanton lust aside, Rachel had felt the tug back then, and because of circumstances — he was married and she was saving humanity — she had spent the next few months denying the reality of their instant bond. He had been the perfect gentlemen, exasperating at points with his Navy rules and bossiness, but always with those eyes, that softening gaze that he seemed to reserve just for her. Even when she would get on his nerves, it was still there. Quincy had teased her relentlessly when Chandler wasn't around — stop drooling and get a room type stuff that still brought a smile to her lips. She missed Quincy.

Rachel wondered if Tom had felt the bond back then. One day she would ask him, but not now — not at the beginning of their relationship, not with the newness of the death of his wife. She pulled her shirt off, fishing in her drawer for another one, deciding on another of Tom's t-shirts. _Wonder how many I can get away with stealing_ , she wondered to herself smiling. Well, she definitely needed more than one, because she had taken to sleeping in them at night, so two was the least she needed — one to the wash and one to wear. She giggled in spite of herself, and pulled out a pair of multicolored panties.

"Clown show panties," she mumbled to herself putting them on. Rachel looked at clock on her nightstand and sighed. Probably another hour and a half before he can slip away and slip in here. Rachel picked up her laptop and headed for the small sofa provided with this stateroom. Sitting sideways with her feet up, she opened the lid and logged in. "Might as well have a look at thas report."

Ten minutes along, she felt the onset of another headache and sighed, "Not now." As she rubbed her forehead, she lowered it about to go back to typing and saw that her fingers were red. "What the—" She put the laptop down and went to her bathroom. Her nose was bleeding, profusely. She grabbed some tissues and put them up to her nose holding her head back to slow it down. It filled up the tissues leaking down on to Tom's white t-shirt.

"Bollux," she said to herself, grabbing more tissues and repeating the maneuver. Again, they filled and she dumped them into the trash, pulling toilet paper off the roll and doing it again. She went back into her living area, bringing the roll of toilet paper with her and stretched out on her sofa, putting her head back. _What the hell is going on with me?_

The bleeding slowed after a few minutes, first to a trickle and then finally stopping. Rachel went back into her bathroom, looking at the white t-shirt now with blotches of red blood. She took it off, and stuffed it in her wastebasket. Washing her face and chest, she went looking for another t-shirt.

"I might need to talk with Doc Rios," she said out loud. "Or maybe I'll just run some lab work on myself tomorrow. _Bruises, nosebleeds, fatigue — that could be anything from anemia to cancer_. _However, it has come on so fast that I have to wonder. What disease shows up in only two to three weeks?_ Rachel had no immediate answer, and in spite of her rising concern, she didn't want to ruin her evening with Tom. It was a silly thought, but she figured if she talked to Tom about it tonight, he would want her to get tests done immediately. _Do not pass go; do not collect his surprise. It could wait until tomorrow._ Tonight, she wanted to spend time with the man she adored. She didn't want him worried for no reason. _It could be something simple, so why hit the panic button._


	17. Chapter 17 - She saw me smile

.

She saw me smile  
Feeling like I'd never been  
In love  
Feeling like I'd never been  
The only one and all alone  
(So She — David Bowie)

Tom spooned the ice cream into a plastic container he had commandeered from Bacon Crowley's kitchen supplies. He already had the maraschino cherries, chocolate sauce and Redi Whip stored in his personal refrigerator in his wardroom. However, he hadn't wanted to put the ice cream in that small refrigerator, because its freezing ability was sketchy at best. Instead, he left this final ingredient until the last minute, and now here he stood bending spoons trying to get it out of the large tub that held ice cream for the crew. He kept walking away from the freezer to run the spoon under hot tap water, then back to the freezer quickly to use the heated spoon to cut through the frozen mass. Regretting his decision to wait until the last possible minute to get the ice cream, he now had no choice but to keep going. What could he do? This was at the heart of his surprise, so he flexed his muscles and pressed forward.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a shadow standing just outside the mess room kitchen — short, shadowy, hesitant. He stopped spooning the ice cream and walked out from behind the counter to get a better look. Now he'd have to explain why he was fighting with the ice cream in the middle of the night. He had a sudden craving for a large quantity of the stuff? He recognized the figure standing in the hallway, and signaled him to enter.

"You can help me, Sean," he said sighing with relief that it was Sean and not someone else prone to gossip. One thing he could say about young Dorsan is that he kept his opinions and observations to himself. In fact, he seemed to keep everything to himself even the fact that he was still living. Going back behind the counter, Tom heard Sean's characteristic quiet sigh, and footsteps that told him Sean was following him. He wondered why Sean was not sleep at this hour, but then he remembered that Andrea had needed a couple days before his schedule would change. _Did Sean just wander around the ship at night before he went to work?_ It was something to consider, but not right now. Tom needed to finish his clandestine operation and get back to his wardroom to pick up the rest of his fixings.

"Hold this, Sean," he indicated the plastic container and Sean complied. He still hadn't said anything, just followed Tom around like a ghost. "How are you?" Tom ventured after a pause.

"Fine, sir. I was on my way to my shift and thought I'd come through here to see if there was anything laying around."

 _Laying around?_ What would be 'laying around' in the mess hall at 23:30 hours? _Well, you're in here spooning ice cream in the middle of the night._ Maybe, Sean came through and took food when nobody was around. Tom decided to forego asking him that at the moment. Sean had known hunger, and was extremely skinny, so any after hours snacking should be encouraged. "Your shift starts at 24:00 hours?"

He went to heat the spoon up again with Sean silently moving in tandem with him. When Tom went back to the large, walk in freezer, Sean followed him back, still holding the plastic container. "Yes, sir," Sean paused. "You sure do like ice cream, sir." Tom looked back over his shoulder at Sean and smiled a bit sheepishly.

"Yes, I do." _What else could he say?_ He finally finished filling the container, and put the spoons in the sink looking at Sean squarely his gaze slip away from him. He reminded Tom of Ashley's cat, Furball. He had learned somewhere that cats won't look you in the eye very long unless they knew you well. It was a defense mechanism in case you might think them aggressive and attack. Tom wondered if abused kids had that same instinct, although Sean continued to hold the ice cream container and hadn't moved.

"Would you like some ice cream, Sean?" _All kids like ice cream._

"Yes, sir," came his quiet reply. Tom scrounged through the cabinet where he had found the other plastic container, and pulled out a second, smaller one. Tom traded the larger container for the smaller one, placed the lid on it and shoved it in the freezer. He took the large vat back out of the freezer, took the spoon from the sink, rinsed it in hot water and dug into the vat again. _I will be exhausted when I finally get to Rachel_. He never thought that spooning out ice cream could be so arduous, but this was turning into a full scale mission. I _had to say I would bring a surprise_. _At least, it was Sean who found me raiding the pantry. How could I explain this to Mike or Tex. They would see right through me to the truth._

As if on cue, Tex strolled into the crew's mess hall, stopping, staring and smiling. "Rummaging up a midnight snack, Commodore?" Tex had a slight drawl, the amusement of the moment reflected in the half-chuckle, half clearing his throat query.

 _Does everyone come through here at the midnight? I had no idea it was such a high trafficked area_ , Tom thought to himself. _And what do I say to Tex? T_ om started to turn around trying desperately to think of an answer that wouldn't arouse suspicion.

"I had a taste for ice cream, sir," Sean interjected himself into the conversation, surprising both Tom and Tex — to Tex, because he seldom spoke and surprising to Tom because Sean was covering for him. "I get hungry on night shift." Sean didn't look at Tex or Tom; he addressed the comment to the floor right in front of Tex's feet. Tom recognized that strange tone Sean used when talking in a crowd — and, Sean considered two people a crowd. He would throw the information out there like he was addressing the room. You could listen to it or not. It was simply an announcement, and Sean expected no reply. He had also not lied exactly; he did ask for ice cream and he was on his way to the nightshift.

"Oh, and the Captain is helping you get it out?" Tom could almost feel Tex's eyebrows raising.

"He heats up the spoon under the hot water, and it comes out easier." Sean replied softly. He still didn't look at Tex, and again he sounded like he was making an announcement to anyone within earshot.

"I see," Tex replied. Tom continued to spoon the ice cream out of the vat and into the bowl. avoiding looking at Tex.

"I don't think it would have come out without the spoon heating technique," Sean seemed almost chatty which Tom found amusing on one level and confusing on another. _Why was Sean covering for him? Was he covering for him?_ Tom wasn't sure. A quick review of Sean's statements showed a level of ambiguity that made Tom wonder. Each of his explanations had two meanings — one banal and terminating and one that would lead to more questions.

As Tom finished up, he recollected his wits and his thoughts. Sean liked the taste of ice cream, and he was holding a bowl of it, so that was the truth. The hot spoon method did work after a fashion, but there had been no explanation beyond Sean's declaration of getting a bowl which would explain why they were standing here at 23:45 working over a vat of deeply frozen ice cream. Sean did work the nightshift, and Tom supposed he got hungry. Tex only assumed that Tom was doing this for Sean, and Sean let that impression stand.

"Thank you, Captain," Sean said, fishing a smaller spoon out of the kitchenware cabinet. He looked back at Tex, stuck the spoon in the ice cream and took a mouthful, testing it. "Very good," he whispered walking past Tex towards the mess hall door. "Good night and thank you again, sir," Sean's pale green gaze twinkled, as his mouth quirked into a very slight smile, then he turned and continued off down the hallway leaving Tom with the disquieting feeling that Sean knew more than he let on. He looked over at Tex who seemed equally confused by what had just transpired.

He shook his head as if to clear cobwebs. "You feel like spooning some of that ice cream out for me?" Tex asked smiling. "That kid put me in the mood."

Tom groaned inwardly. _Of course, Tex would want ice cream_. If a few more people drifted by, he could open a parlor and serve drinks with the ice cream . . . maybe, some fresh baked cookies. He opened the freezer again, pushing the container he made for his date with Rachel further back into the freezer. Pulling out the large, deep freeze vat again, he leaned in the sink retrieving the spoon. Turning on the hot water, he started heating up the spoon.

"Hi, Captain. Hi Tex," Tom looked behind him at Lt. Kara Foster, "what are you doing?"

"We're eating ice cream," Tex replied. "The Captain's doing the honors."

Kara's eyes lit up as a smile spread across her face. "Can you spoon me out a dish, sir?"

"Sure, why not," Tom replied sighing. _Didn't anybody sleep at night on this ship?_

 _—_

Rachel dozed off for the third time that evening waking with a start when she heard the outer door to her quarters open and close. Without opening her eyes, she smiled. "What took you so long?" she asked sweetly, and after a pause with no answer, she opened her eyes to look into the frowning face of Thomas Chandler.

"What's wrong," she asked sitting up from her lounging position on her sofa. He placed everything on the sofa on one side. Here's where you definitely need a coffee table, but none was available so the sides and back of the sofa would have to do.

"Nothing, well, nothing worth mentioning," Tom murmured in her direction. "You would not believe what I went through to get this surprise." He opened the ice cream, producing two spoons.

"Vanilla ice cream?" Rachel looked amused. "You went through hell to get vanilla ice cream?"

"Let me guess, you don't like vanilla!" Rachel heard the frustration in his voice.

"I love vanilla ice cream," she replied brightly. She wasn't going to say what she really felt, that she found vanilla a bit boring. _I love chocolate, maybe some strawberry, but not vanilla that much._ Tom produced some chocolate syrup, cherries and whipped cream. _Well, I can put a lot of chocolate syrup on the vanilla. It won't be so bad._

"We're making sundaes?"

She still looked dubious, but she smiled anyway."No jelly or nuts?"

Tom looked at her momentarily dumbfounded. "Jelly?"

"Peach melba sauce?"

Silence. He looked more confused.

"Knickerbocker Glory," she explained, but saw no light of recognition dawn in his blue eyes.

"Knickerbocker Glory?" He repeated the phrase as if saying it out loud would lend some clarity to it. It didn't and his questioning gaze made her smile.

 _You are so cute when you're confused, Chandler._ "Never mind, it looks delicious."

He gave her a spoon and a plastic bowl, opened up the chocolate sauce, the cherries and the whipped cream. "You put jelly on your sundaes?"

"Sometimes," she smiled at him and started spooning the ice cream into her bowl. It was incredibly sweet that he had tried to do this, even though he was missing some parts of it. They ate in companionable silence as she added more and more chocolate syrup to the mix.

"You really like chocolate sauce," he whispered, leaning closer to her. "I like chocolate sauce, too."

His gaze darkened, eyes dilating, a shy smile gracing his lips. _Clearly he is thinking about something else besides ice cream sundaes._

"Oh, you do?" she grinned at him as her heart quickened. _The energy between them had gone from a simple sundae get together to let's get sexy with the chocolate sauce._ This was just a variation on a theme with them; it was why she loved him, why when they were together in a room, his gorgeous, tanned body made her senses come alive with anticipation. That single line had changed and charged the atmosphere between them.

"Yes, and I like whipped cream with it. Maybe, a cherry or three," he smiled at her, his blue eyes twinkling.

"Somehow, I think this conversation just changed," Rachel laughed.

"Well, there are places I'd like to try the chocolate syrup on," he looked all boyish charm and gleeful.

 _Playful Chandler, well, this was new._ "Oh, like where?"

"Can I show you?" he grinned. "You'll need to take off your shirt," he leaned over and kissed her lightly on the lips.

"What about the half container of ice cream we didn't eat?" Rachel indicated the plastic container. "Are we simply going to let it melt?"

Tom pursed his lips in thought. "We can put it in your sink. That way, if it melts, it won't be a bother."

"Sounds like a waste of food," Rachel teased watching as Tom's face fell, but then he perked up.

"We can refreeze it later," he answered, "then we can use it again tomorrow."

Rachel laughed, marveling at the thinking of her straight arrow lover. Refreezing the ice cream, playing with chocolate sauce, the whipped cream — what's gotten into him. "You realize that refrozen ice cream is never good." He put the lid on the container, stood and strode into the bathroom ignoring her. When he came back out, he had a mission accomplished grin on his face. "What is with you tonight, Chandler?"

"Oh, it might have something to do with roving feet, sexy roll eating and nearly causing me to embarrass myself completely in the wardroom?" He came towards her, grabbing her around her waist and lifting her up from the sofa. "I don't know, maybe, it was all that having sex with the jelly, the knife, the roll — all the while driving me to distraction." He carried her towards the bedroom. "Somebody got me all hot and bothered, then left me sitting there frustrated and alone." He dropped her on the bed on her back, taking off his shoes and crawling astride her.

"What are you doing?" Rachel squeaked realizing too late that he had trapped her beneath him.

"I figure I might have some fun tonight," Tom smiled down at her running his fingers up and down her sides and under her ribs, tickling her. She wiggled trying to push him off, but he continued mercilessly until she was laughing so hard, tears were running down her face and she was gasping.

"Ain't payback a blip," he grinned down at her. "I figure that whole deal at dinner deserved a response."

"Okay," she gasped, "you win."

"I win what, pray tell?" He was grinning from ear to ear, "peace at dinner?"

"Yes," Rachel acquiesced still laughing. "You did look like you liked it, though." He rolled off of her onto his side, propping his head up with his hand.

"I did," he replied sweetly, "to a certain point." The latter part of the sentence had a sterner edge to it.

"I'll keep my trainers on next time, and you can be bored."

"Versus horny, over stimulated and trying not to groan in front of my men? I do have a certain level of professionalism I need to maintain."

"I know, and you do such an excellent job even when distracted," Rachel smiled at him.

"I'm not a monk, you know. I was very close to getting us both in trouble tonight," Tom replied, kissing her lightly on the lips.

"Point taken, but you're just so damned cute, it's hard to keep my hands off of you . . . and my feet, too. You're not really angry, are you?"

"No, not really. I'm just asking for some mercy. I might to need to stand up quickly without having time to recite the Naval Academy motto fifteen times. And, then everybody will know what you're doing under the table."

"What is the Naval Academy motto?" _Can we say non-sequitur?_

" _Ex Scientia Tridens_ or Through Knowledge, Sea Power," Tom replied. "There's a long explanation for it, but the short version is that it stresses education first and foremost which gives you the power at sea."

"So, Sean is headed to the right place?"

"Yes, he'll do just fine." Tom started running his fingers over her stomach at first tentative then with more pressure. He was making lazy circles on top of her shirt, then sliding his hand underneath. The pull, the connection between them was there, and she wondered why she would think it would diminish with distance and time. She loved to look at him, relaxed, gorgeous with those blue on blue eyes, light, long lashes and kissable lips. Would she ever tire of being in his company, lying beside him this way?

Rachel didn't think she'd ever get used to the feelings this man invoked in her, not that she wanted to either. He had such a way about him that made him _cuddly_. It was a side of him she'd discovered even before they became lovers. When they had been just friends, he'd afforded her as much latitude as possible in their relationship. Because of her past, Rachel didn't think she would have taken the next step without being friends with him first. Yes, cuddly was a good word for what they shared; he was as tough as they come in combat, but he was cuddly everywhere else, and he was a downright marshmelon when it came to her. Marshmelon, the phrase came to her mind unbidden — Star Trek's character Spock had called marshmallows marshmelons in one of her favorite movie series and it kind of stuck with her. But that was an adequate description of his style.

"Take your shirt off," he whispered kissing her earlobe and biting it gently.

"Why?" she replied coyly.

"I want to try something." His eyes had a twinkle that made her smile. There was that warm feeling again, and that electric jolt that went from her head straight to her groin.

"What?"

"If you don't take your shirt off, you'll never know. He climbed over her and walked back into the living area, returning a few moments later with the chocolate sauce and whipped cream. He pulled her to a sitting position. "Lift your arms." She complied and he relieved her of her shirt. He looked appreciatively at her chest, her nipples already hardening under his gaze, a flush of pink gracing her cheeks.

 _Gorgeous_ , she watched him climb back over her, _even when playful_. "What are you going to do with those?"

"Guess."

"I don't know," Rachel replied softly. He would have to work for it.

He smirked. "We're going to make sundaes," His hand rubbed her left breast, and she jumped; then he rubbed her right one. "Sundae on this one, sundae on that one. Then I get to eat them."

"Hmmmm, can I make a sundae on you, and eat it too?" _Where in the hell did playful Tom come from? Surprising — very nice — but surprising._ Hell, lust can be a lot of fun as long as there's love there, too. Without it, lust leads nowhere. Even her shallow affairs had some mutual feelings; it didn't rise to the level of love, but there was genuine affection. She didn't know what she'd been missing until she met Tom, and now she'd never be able to go back to the shallow relationships of before.

"You need to lose those pants, Chandler," she smirked at him. "And, the underwear, too."

It was going to be a fun evening, one that she could enjoy without reservation because of the man she was playing with. Yes, they would have amazing sex again, but even with that, they would share that deeper connection that made it seem like they'd been together forever.

With the shallow connections of before came a loneliness she hadn't realized, but Tom had blown all that away when he become her lover, a man she could believe in even before they went forward; a man who was kind, trustworthy and reliable even in friendship. He was her friend, confidant and eternal refuge. He had relaxed into their relationship like they'd been together for years. It was nice, and he was so sweet Rachel couldn't help but smile when she thought about him. They had come so far since their first kiss, that tentative, stiff exploration of each others boundaries. They had both been scared about what this next step might mean. And now, here they were about to make sundaes out of each other. _How quickly things can change_.

Tom held up the chocolate bottle grinning. He looked like a boy who had just hit a home run. She giggled in return, countering with the whipped cream can he had placed next to her.

"So, who's going to go first," she asked pointing the Redi Whip spout at him. With each passing day, she felt like she'd known him forever which made silliness acceptable to her who had always been serious. Her cautious side warned prudence; if you move too fast, you're going to get burned. But that voice was diminishing in comparison to the large freight train that was their current relationship. She watched as he sat, slid out of his pants and underwear and turned back to face her. It was going to be a fun night, the first of many she hoped.

Rachel awoke hot, sticky and smelling of chocolate, Wrapped around her waist, legs and back, Tom slept breathing softly in her ear. They had collapsed into a sated heap after making short work of both the whipped cream and chocolate. Rachel smiled remembering the look on his face when she had sprayed his private parts with whipped cream that was cool, then leaning forward to lick it off wrapping her warm mouth around him, licking and sucking gently. He groaned in response, and she realized that she liked to make him groan; it was a power she never thought she'd have over him, and it made her heady and temporarily power mad. That's what she told herself last night as she did as she pleased. And, she pleased a lot.

He had given as good as he got, covering her with chocolate sauce and driving her crazy licking and kissing it off. He had groaned that he was getting too old for this, and she had laughed and dumped chocolate where whipped cream had been before.

She was glad that she did her own laundry, because her sheets would really be hard to explain: chocolate, whipped cream and sex all mixed together in a heap. After their final orgasm, they had both been too tired to get up, and Tom had simply pulled the covers up around them, hugging her close.

"You are full of surprises, Chandler," she had whispered as her eyes drooped and she'd drifted off. She heard him grumble an answer, but it didn't make much sense, and she had been too tired to ask him to repeat it.

In the cool light of morning, his arm was around her waist, his leg between hers and his frame wrapped close, protective with his head inclined towards her shoulder, they shared the space more as one person than two, and although she was overheating a bit, she still liked the closeness.

 _It is nice to wake up this way_ , she thought to herself. _I could definitely get used to this._ Her cautious side warned that she might be cruising for a fall — to remember before when the jerk who'd been so nice and turned into such a monster after they were together. It warned that she should get out of this relationship — run away and never look back. _Retreat into science and kick love to the curb before it was too late._

Tom had never done anything to indicate that he was a loser, pervert or monster. That was in her past. If anything, he had been married to his previous wife for 18 years and had two children to boot. Darien had seemed quite happy with their relationship, and Tom wouldn't even be with Rachel, if Darien hadn't died. So, loyalty was not an issue, and reliability seemed a foregone conclusion with this man. He spent much of his time trying to keep her safe. In terms of personality, he was pretty easy going except when he was trying to keep her safe, and even then he looked more exasperated than anything. He had just made sundaes, and the worst thing he'd ever done to her was tickle her. Her cautious - bordering on paranoid - side needed to ease up, and she told herself that mentally in the strongest words possible.

Moving a little, she felt something sticky on her face. _You put chocolate syrup on my face? Good lord._ Wiping her hand to get it off, she realized with a sinking feeling in her gut that it was not sauce. She'd had another nosebleed in the night. Not wanting to wake Tom, she squirmed and slithered out from under him. He moaned softly and rearranged himself in the bed continuing to sleep. Rachel walked to the bathroom and switched on the light. One half of her face was covered in dried and drying blood.

"Bloody hell," she whispered, "what in Sam Hill is going on with me?" She turned on the water and began to wash the blood off of her face with tissues not wanted to ruin her washcloth. When she'd gotten enough of it off of her face, she dropped the tissues and started washing her face and her arms with the cloth as well as down her chest. This was so annoying, and she was afraid it was not getting better. She would have to slow down and look into it at a time when she needed to be focusing on getting the dispersal mechanism finished. After she'd cleaned up, she went back into the living area, peeking in her bedroom to see if Tom was still asleep. She smiled looking at him scrunched down half taking up her side of the single bed. He was a big man, and he had shifted into a more comfortable position with her absence.

Sitting on the side of the bed, Rachel simply took a moment to enjoy the view: broad shoulders, wavy hair, tanned body. He was adorable when sleeping, attractive and hot when awake. All in all, Rachel felt she had the best of both worlds. The only worry she had was what was happening to her body. _She had finally gotten into an incredible relationship only to be getting sick?_ She pushed the thought away in her mind. _Don't claim what you don't want, Rachel._

Tom's watch alarm started beeping interrupting her reverie. She watched him stretch out reminding her of a cat she once owned. Opening his eyes, Tom smiled at her. "You're already awake. I thought you were a night owl."

 _Should I tell him what woke me up?_ Rachel wondered. _No. Let me run some tests on myself before I sound the alarm._ "Just came to a little while ago. I think your alarm is training me."

Tom crawled out from under the covers and got out of the bed, stopping briefly to kiss her on the head. "Bathroom," he grumbled walking away from her.

"Ok," she replied enjoying the rear view. He was naked and gorgeous. Not an ounce of fat on the man. He disappeared into the bathroom, and she busied herself pulling the sheets off of her bed. She went to rummage in her closet for her spare set, dropping the dirty ones just outside of the bedroom door like you do with dirty towels in a hotel. Seeing the chocolate stains on the sheets brought back very pleasant memories of the night before. In fact, just about everything this morning brought back memories.

Rachel grabbed the sheets and started back towards her bed as Tom exited the bathroom. His frown slowed her footsteps; what he had in his hand stopped her cold.

"Are you alright?" he asked, his eyes showing the kind of gentle concern her parents used to exhibit. The bloody shirt in one hand, he laid his other hand lightly on my shoulder. She was soothed by it, as he sat down beside her, asking again if something was wrong. He spoke with such a soft voice that she felt his words calming, and instead of pushing her worry away, she let it stay this time. _I am worried, more than I let myself feel. Whatever this is, it isn't going away; in fact, it's getting worse and quickly, too._

"You know you can tell me anything, Rach."

 _I have never shared my medical issues with anyone, not from illness nor abuse. I simply dealt with it as best I can and moved on._ Until now. She felt like she could let the fear in, because she was wrapped in a shield of his caring. This relationship was so different than the others. How could she not consider her actions and reactions now, now that she could see how they profoundly would affect him, too. _Uncharted territory; unknown illness and the idea that I am not alone anymore_ — these things brought comfort in spite of everything.

She realized that he was waiting; that Chandler patience should be patented. "I don't know what is going on with me. I've had headaches, sudden fatigue, weird bruising, stomach and leg cramps, dizziness and now nosebleeds. My sense of taste seems to be off, too. This all started when you forced me to work with Sorenson, so in the beginning I just thought it was stress. But, now I'm not so sure." _There, she'd said it out loud._ In actuality, listing all of the symptoms sounded worse than letting them rattle around in her brain unspoken.

Rachel didn't want to succumb to fear, because fear shackled the mind. It was a constant hammer in your head that made rational thought impossible. Tom looked concerned, thoughtful even. She wondered if he was weighing the stress theory versus something else.

"Is anybody else having these symptoms? Beatrice?" She realized that he was holding her hands which she'd been playing a twisty game with her fingers.

"No, so I know it's not environmental," Rachel sighed looking down. "It's only been in the last three weeks, too. That makes it a bit soon for some chronic illness, or something like," she lowered her voice when she said it, "cancer."

"Okay, so you need to get some tests run, so we can rule out stuff," Tom didn't react to the cancer admission for which Rachel was grateful. She only knew a couple of cancers that moved that fast, and they were almost always fatal.

Wouldn't it be a hoot; she had found the cure to the Red Flu that had killed billions only to die from something pedestrian like pancreatic cancer. She didn't have the symptoms of that horrible disease. At least she didn't think so. Her expertise wasn't in cancers per se, so she was just generally knowledgeable on the topic. _Guess I'll have to look that topic over more thoroughly._ "Okay, so I was planning to run tests this morning."

"And, let's get Doc Rios involved. He can lend a different perspective to the mix, and he may know some other tests to run."

 _Here again was what made Tom Chandler a good leader_ , she thought, _problem solver first. No panic, just action_. He would move heaven and earth to keep her safe; he immediately dropped into the "getting answers" mode of thinking. While she had planned on running tests this morning, she hadn't really thought getting Rios involved was necessary. She didn't want to bother the ship's doctor, but the different perspective theory Tom had just presented, lent knew clarity for her to consider. In other words, Tom had just changed her perspective about Rios' different perspective. "Okay, I'll talk to him this morning right after breakfast."

"Good. I also think that Sean is going to be switched today," Tom continued, "so, I will assign him to you to help out with moving stuff, the animals and such."

"There's no need for that," Rachel objected. "I'm only going to be cleaning out the rodents cages, and I need to get stuff cleaned up around the door area after the storm."

"Yes, and you are not going to do that if you're having medical issues," Tom held up his hands defensively as Rachel was about to launch into how this hadn't even been considered serious yet. "You'd be doing me a favor. I have to talk to Andrea anyway about how we are going to assign him duties. I won't have time to do that today, so he'd be at loose ends. If I assign him to you temporarily, I can get things worked out with Andrea. It's a win-win." He gave her his most innocent look, a big grin on his face.

Rachel was slightly perturbed, but she acquiesced. She was tired from last night, and she didn't feel like fighting about it. She could use Sean's help anyway, because moving stuff, mopping and washing seemed even more tiring to her. And, she had just gotten up.

"It will also give Sean time with Beatrice which I know will make him happy, although it might not be the same for Beatrice." Tom laughed as he said it, hugging her, pulling her towards him. "It's no shame to get a little help from time to time if you're not feeling good, you know."

"That's just it. I don't feel that bad, just out of sorts. It leads me to believe that it's something minor like anemia or something." Even as Rachel said it, she knew that wasn't the case. Anemia didn't account for the myriad of symptoms she was encountering.

"Okay. I'm not leaping to any conclusions. I just want to make sure that if something more serious is wrong, it's not exacerbated by you hauling boxes and slinging mops. That's all I'm saying. You'll still be Super Doctor; you now have a young assistant to handle the grunt work. Sean is young, strong and we both know, he'll do anything in the world for you."

Rachel smiled in spite of her annoyance. "Yes, and he's not alone in that regard."

"Yes, I know I'm guilty of that sentiment, too. However, that's not the point. You are tired; you need to rest, and take it easy until we can figure out what's wrong and take appropriate corrective action." He pointed to all of the blood on his t-shirt. "This could be serious."

"Yes," Rachel smirked in spite of the topic of discussion, "and if I keep bleeding all over your t-shirts, you won't have any to wear pretty soon."

"Another good point. It's not like we can go ashore and replenish our supply. So, yes, I'd like to take corrective actions before I'm T-shirt-less."

It was a good feeling leaning on Tom. He was strong without being overbearing. God knows, she had dealt with enough Alpha male assholes to be able to spot the type a mile away. Tom was an Alpha male, but he carried it without the uber-macho trappings and obnoxious attitude that so many men possessed. He was strong, sexy and sweet. It was a nice combination. _I can't be but so sick_ , Rachel mused to herself, _because I am still in lust mode half the time. When that well dries up, I'll know I'm in trouble_. She giggled at the thought.

"What?" he murmured in her ear.

"It was a private joke, an assessment of my level of illness, actually."

"So share it," he replied.

"I just figured I can't be too sick, not after last night. You are still very delicious looking."

"As are you, Doctor Scott," he laughed. "Very delicious indeed. That's why we have to get this inconvenient, not so serious illness taken care of, so we can resume tasting each other's bountiful harvests."

"You are so romantic, Chandler," she laughed.

"Is this romantic enough?" He kissed her neck softly trailing kisses from her jawbone down to her chest. She knew that when he kissed her neck like that, it is only a matter of time before she melted. His hand ran through her hair heightening the experience, then he covered her mouth with his own not innocently or chaste, but fiery, hot and passionate. In that moment her senses seduced, she couldn't think straight.

She smiled, her heart fluttering at the sound of his voice as she clasped her hands on either side of his face. Never before had her name sounded so lovely, felt so wonderful. She was completely unprepared for the depth of her feelings. After all of the hours she had spent with Tom — watching him laugh, talk and frown — she thought she knew everything there was to know about his loving style. She had certainly imagined enough scenes between them.

However, nothing she dreamed could prepare her for the level of warmth and caring, even down to how warm his lips felt pressed against her own that this man possessed. When they broke apart, she leaned her forehead against his gathering strength and much needed oxygen. He was smirking; she didn't care sinking into his hold. "I'm not sure that was love or lust," she joked.

"Want to try it again just to be sure?" He started to kiss her again, and she felt her mind going to mush. Another kiss like the last one, and she would only be good for babbling and grinning like an idiot.

"I need you," she breathed. _Where did that come from?_

"You have me," he assured her. "Completely and forever, baby."


	18. Chapter 18 - Something happened on the

.

Something happened on the day he died  
Spirit rose a metre and stepped aside  
Somebody else took his place, and bravely cried:  
I'm a Blackstar, I'm a Blackstar.  
(- David Bowie, Blackstar)

"I don't mind," Sean looked at the rodent cages, pulling on some rubber gloves and donning a face mask with a fog free visor. He started in the far corner working his way towards where Rachel was sitting next to the centrifuge looking at her computer screen. Two guards brought Neils Sorenson into the lab.

"Well, it took you long enough," Neils complained scratching his beard with his fingers. He squinted at the far end of the lab, zeroing in on Sean who had stood up glaring at him, before he went back to cleaning the first rodent cage. "I see you've got another helper. You don't need all these assistants; you just need to work with me on a more frequent basis so that we can get more accomplished."

"You planning on cleaning out the rat cages, then?" Rachel snarled, "because that's what my new assistant is doing."

"I didn't say that. I meant you've kept me locked up in that stateroom during the time we could be working on a dispersion method." Neils' tone was almost whiny, and Rachel found it annoying.

Rachel was up to her neck in work. She had to take time out of her hectic schedule to take her own blood and start running tests on it, giving samples to Doc Rios to run as well, although he hadn't had time to talk to her at the time. They promised to get together at lunch to go over her symptoms and brainstorm on some possible causes, but at the time she dropped off the blood samples, Rios had his hands full was patching up two sailors who had been injured in a work accident.

Rachel was also very tired even though she'd had a full night's rest. Fatigue was becoming her constant companion; she didn't seem to have any stamina these days. She was anxious to find out what Rios thought, and what he would come up with to compare to her own blood analysis. On top of everything, right now, she had to deal with her least favorite person, Neils Sorenson.

She watched as he sauntered over to the table opposite her and opened another laptop, sitting on one of the stools in the lab. "You don't mind, do you?"

"Mind, why would I mind? You are the wunderchild, now aren't you? Except you haven't come up with much of anything to solve our problem either." Rachel heard a lid slam shut in the area with the rats.

"I need to go to the bathroom," Neils groused, stepping out of the enclosed plastic to walk towards the bathroom connected to the main ship. Rachel didn't care; the farther he was from her, the better.

"I hate him," she heard Sean say.

"Welcome to my world," Rachel replied softly. "I have to work with him only as long as it takes for him to deliver his sequences and help us get the dispersion of the cure solved."

"And after that?"

"He can go to hell for all I care."

Sorenson returned wiping water from his hands on his pants. He looked at Sean who had gone back to cleaning cages and at Rachel who was pointedly ignoring him.

"So, where do we begin?" He sounded happy like he was about to party with his best friends. Except, they were not friends. They weren't even enemies. The feeling she had for him transcended normal levels of enmity; it ran so deep there were no words to describe it.

"I need your sequences so that we can start creating a dispersal protocol," her voice shook, her breath loud in her ears. She was gripping the lip that over hung on her desk sides forcing control.

"I told you I don't remember that," he whinged at her. "I'm trying. I do want to show you some ideas I've had about other projects we can work on." He waved his notebook at her.

"We aren't going to be working on any other projects, Neils," she snarled at him, her nostrils flaring. She could feel the redness creeping across her cheeks, not from embarrassment but from her steely-eyed determination not to sink a pair of surgical scissors into his jugular.

"I just thought that while we're working on this hard problem, we could put our talents to creating other things."

"For who? You killed most of humanity," her voice rising. "There isn't hardly anyone left to impress without our collective, scientific acumen." She realized that she was now standing, gripping the scissors in her hand. "So, let's cut the bullshit and be about what we're here for — finding a stable dispersal method so that we can save the rest of humanity from your psychotic ass."

Neils opened his mouth as if he was going to say more, then closed it, then opened it and finally closed it again without saying anything else. He went to the left side of the lab, looking into the microscope and being as far away from Rachel as he could get. That put him very close to Sean who eyed him warily as he went about cleaning cages. Sorenson settled next to the microscope and started flipping slides on and off the stage adjusting the clips to hold the slides in place.

After a few minutes of silence, Neils started talking again. "I think what you said is rude and uncalled for." He was moving back to the computer terminal. "If we are to work together, we should maintain a level of professionalism."

Rachel continued working not saying anything. In her head, she was counting . . . 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7…. Her previous outburst had shown her hand, how much she detested his presence, and let him know that she felt he shouldn't even breath the same air.

"Are you going to talk to me?" Neils' voice went up an octave. He didn't like to be ignored.

"Do you have something to say about dispersal methods?" Rachel continued to look at her computer screen.

"What about my other ideas?"

"I think I was clear about how I felt about your other ideas."

"So, you won't even look at them?"

"No, I won't. They are irrelevant to what we're working on — dispersal of the cure — so that we can treat patients across a wide spectrum and area."

"That's all you want to talk about?"

"Yes."

"I could make you a Pulitzer prize winner."

"There is no more Pulitzer prize, thanks to you."

"You can't even be civil?"

"This is the best I can do, Neils."

"So, why don't you shut the fuck up." Rachel looked up startled looking behind Neils. Sean was standing about a half a foot away from Sorenson who looked equally startled by his sudden appearance inside his personal space. Although Sean was small, Neils appeared intimidated.

Sean, on the other hand, gave him a dead eye look through eyes that were cold, hard & flinty. Sean's face reddened, his lips flattening into a thin line, as he was sized up Sorenson. Rachel could almost hear his thoughts: where to hit Neils, how to kill him.

"Sean," Rachel spoke softly. She knew Sean could kill, would kill for her, and she didn't like the way he was glaring at Neils. She knew that while her temper was barely controlled around Neils, that control came from her age and experience. Sean had no such restraints. All he had was the discipline of training in the martial arts and his loyalty to her. Sorenson was a mass murderer, and beyond that he brought out the worst in people.

Sorenson physically backed up his eyes widening, as his mouth twitched into a half-smile. Sean continued to stare at him, not saying a word. Rachel could see that Sean was positioning himself, finding his center and she didn't want him to make a move that could ruin his life.

"Go back to cleaning out the cages, sweetie." Rachel ordered, raising her voice to break the spell. Sean shifted again away from the center position as he took an almost a lazy look from Sorenson to her then back to him. "I'm fine, Sean."

Sean's gaze shifted to her again, then he lowered his eyes, turned and returned to the rodent cages without a word.

"He's crazy," Sorenson whispered to Rachel when he thought Sean was out of earshot. "I didn't even realize he was next to me, and I think he was going to hurt me. Did you see the look in his eyes?"

"Sean is many things, but crazy isn't one of them," Rachel replied knowing that Sean could probably dispatch Sorenson without breaking a sweat. "And yes, he might want to hurt you. Everybody on this ship wants to hurt you, considering what you've done. You might want to be careful about what you say around people." Rachel continued to look at her laptop screen.

"Well, tether your dog, so we can get some work done," Sorenson leaned over and hissed in her ear.

Rachel stood to her full height, her eyes burning with barely concealed rage, "He is no dog, and if you call him that ever again, I'll do something I'll regret and so will you. Now, get out of my way." She pushed him backwards moving around him towards the centrifuge.

"So sorry, I didn't know it was like that," Sorenson sneered. "Didn't know you went for the young ones."

Before Rachel realized it, she had spun on her heel, slapping him across the face, holding out her arm simultaneously to stop Sean. She know that as surely as the sun rose in the morning, Sean would react badly to what had just transpired. She didn't need him sprinting towards Neils to dispatch him with extreme prejudice. "I got this, Sean."

Sean stopped next to her, and she gave him a guarded looked, gently pushing him back towards the rodent cages. "Clean the cages." Sean continued to watch Neils, his brows knitted, his lips pressed together into an angry line. "Sean, do as I say."

Rachel could see that Sean was conflicted; he hadn't heard all of the conversation, but she had just slapped Sorenson, so he didn't really need to know what the conversation was about to renew his thoughts of killing him. She needed to shoo him away, before he reached out and did something to Neils in her defense.

Sean slowly returned to cleaning the rodent cages, finishing the last one and removing his protective clothing. "I'm going to move the stuff near the door, and clean up the floor," Sean brushed past them bumping into Sorenson as he went, who fell into the rodent cage on the end. He grabbed it and glared at Sean's disappearing back through the plastic. "He did that on purpose," Neils hissed.

"Yes, I suppose he did," Rachel held up her hand cutting off anything else he might have to say. "What do you have on the dispersion methods?"

"I haven't been working on that exactly. Like I said, I have some other ideas for projects we can do together that will make us wealthy and famous."

"For the last time," Rachel snarled, "I am not interested in anything except how to disperse the cure. If you don't have anything to contribute on that score, I'll have you returned to your room until tomorrow."

"Fine, let's look at your suggestions, so I know somewhere to start my analysis."

"They are on that computer you were sitting in front of a little while ago. Let me know if you have something." Rachel went back to working on her laptop running sequences and marking results. This was the un-sexy part of her job, running analysis after analysis much the same way a student practices scales on the piano. It had to be done in order to find the inconsistencies, but it was grunt work boring. She had no assistant to help her, and she didn't trust Sorenson any farther than she could throw him, so it came down to her doing it herself.

She glanced over to where Sean was supposed to be mopping the floor, instead seeing him leaning on his mop handle, holding her thermos with lemonade and talking to Beatrice. She hadn't seen Beatrice enter the lab, so intent was she to get Neils moving, and she smiled involuntarily at the two of them. It was the most she had seen Sean talk to someone besides herself, which made her happy because he was slowly coming out of that shell he'd had glued to his back.

Glancing over at Neils, Rachel saw him watching the two of them, too, although she doubted, from his downturned lips, knitted brows and squinting eyes, that he had fond thoughts about them. He cast her a veiled glance, then returned his attention to the laptop screen, and in that moment, something in his manner gave her pause.

Rachel looked again at Sean and Beatrice talking, and then back at Sorenson's back. _What was it about your look that disturbed me?_ She closed her eyes to replay the scene that had just transpired, but could see nothing amiss in her mind's eye.

 _Something is wrong_ , her mind warned again. _There is something you've missed, and it's right in front of you._ She looked again at Sean and Beatrice, but they continued to laugh and talk. _Maybe, I was just up too late last night._ Rachel shook her head to dispel the bad feelings, failing to rid herself of all of them.

"Neils," Rachel began, but she had nothing concrete to say. He turned towards her his eyes narrowed. She gave him a dismissive wave of her hand and returned to the laptop's analysis. "Never mind."

Rachel looked up again a few minutes later because of an outlier in her general range of hearing. She heard someone groan and her gaze fell on Sean moving a box into a better position. He appeared to be sweating as he lifted the box, walking slowly towards his destination. He dropped it instead of placing it on the shelf, groaning in pain and grabbing his stomach.

Rachel got to her feet and walked briskly out of the plastic area grabbing Sean by the arm. Beatrice grabbed his other arm, and they guided him to a stool. Sean was sweating profusely and short of breath. An alarm rang in her mind as she watched him double over in pain. Sean was small, lightweight — all skin and bones. Rachel looked back through the plastic at Neils who was watching the scene unfold, a slight smile playing across his lips. Rachel knew instinctively that he had something to do with this.

"Call the Doc," Rachel said to Beatrice. "Tell him, Sean's sick and could he come down to my lab."

"Okay, Rachel," Beatrice let go of Sean and ran for the intercom. The two guards at the door came over to help Sean as Rachel asked them to take Sorenson back to his stateroom. One of the two guards motioned to Sorenson to come with him, while the other guard went to help Sean who was ashen and shaking as sweat beaded on his forehead, his face glistening. His eyelids drooped as he fought to catch his breath. _He was fine five minutes ago. What happened?_

"There is an epinephrine needle in my medical bag," Rachel tried to remain calm as Beatrice ran back to where Sean was sitting. "Would you get it for me, please?" Sorenson's face floated in her mind, the slight smile, the veiled look. _What did you do?_

She returned her focus to Sean who started to have a nosebleed. He looked at the blood in his hand then up at Rachel, terror flashing in his eyes. "It's some kind of allergic reaction, Sean," Rachel tried to calm him as he fought to catch his breath. Beatrice ran back with the entire medical bag, tears welling in her eyes.

"I couldn't find it," she cried. Sean closed his eyes, leaning heavily on Rachel, as she signaled the remaining guard to pull him backwards and hold him. Ignoring his wheezing, she scrambled through the medical bag. _Where was it? I know it's in here_. Finally, she dumped the bag out onto the floor, and fished through the contents finding the needle.

Sean started coughing then vomited up a combination of his lunch, white foamy mucus and blood. He was gasping for air, grabbing at his throat. Rachel knew time was against her. His throat was closing up, and soon he wouldn't be able to breathe; blood was running down the front of his shirt, across his pants in his lap and dripping on to the floor. She could see the terror in his eyes as he pushed against the guard trying to stand up. "Can't breathe," he croaked, grabbing at his throat. "Burns."

"Hold him," Rachel said as the stool, which was on wheels, fell out from beneath him. She grabbed the scissors, cut his pants to expose his thigh, and stabbed him with the epi pen. This allergic reaction was bad, as bad as she had ever seen.

Rachel heard rather than saw her lab door open, as Doctor Rios raced in to give aid. "What happened?" he asked leaning over Sean.

"I don't know," Rachel pushed away her own frantic, panicky feelings for the boy, concentrating on the facts. "He was fine, and then something happened. I don't know what, and it happened so fast. It has to be an allergic reaction." Rachel felt dizzy, grabbing at Beatrice before she fell down, too. _Must be the stress of this_ , she thought. _Now is not the time to pass out from panic._

"Did he eat anything that he might have an allergic reaction to?" Doctor Rios asked as be took Sean's vitals. "Did he drink anything?"

"He drank some of your lemonade," Beatrice offered. "He was really thirsty after moving all those boxes, the sandbags and mopping, so he drank almost all of it. He said it tasted funny, but I told him it was because of the saccharin in it." Beatrice ran and picked up the thermos, handing it to Rios who sniffed it and put it aside. "That is the last thing he drank?"

"Yes," Beatrice said. "He drank it about five minutes before all this started. Two men ran into Rachel's lab with a stretcher, hoisting Sean onto it, swiftly strapping him in.

"I'm going to need to get blood from him, although at the rate he's bleeding, there must be some kind of anticoagulant in his system, because he doesn't have hemophilia."

The two stretcher bearers started out for the ship's infirmary as Rachel and Beatrice followed Doctor Rios out of the lab and down the corridor. Rachel still felt faint, but pushed her own feelings of dizziness and nausea away from her conscious mind as she ran behind the doctor. The various ailments were beginning to add up in her mind as she hustled down the corridor after Sean.

When they reached the infirmary, Sean was transferred to a bed, and Rios started drawing blood. "His blood is very dark," Rios commented, "and, it's flowing like water." He took a series of gauze pads and pressed down where he had stuck the needle in, but the pads were rapidly turning red with blood. "Sean," Rios shook him. "Sean, can you hear me?"

Rios signaled his nurse and an orderly. "Keep holding this pad, and we're going to have to get him on oxygen. We may need to inter-bate, because his breathing is bad, too, and we've got to type and cross match him. He's going to need a transfusion at this rate." The nurse rushed out of the area where Sean was laying to perform the doctor's orders, returning shortly with a bunch of vials, a butterfly needle and some alcohol wipes and more gauze bandages.

"Sean, can you hear me?" Rachel listened as Rios tried in vain to wake him, but somewhere during the ride to the infirmary, he must have passed out completely.

Rachel's didn't feel all that well either, as her eyes got increasing heavy, drooped and then closed, In her mind, she prayed for Sean's recovery. Praying was not something she was prone to do, being more a woman of science, medicine and action, but she was so tired, dizzy and nauseous from everything that had transpired, she couldn't keep her eyes open any longer to do much else.

 _What the hell is going on? And how does Neils fit into this?_ As surely as she knew that Sean was deathly ill suddenly out of the blue, she knew Neils Sorenson was somehow responsible.

As she drifted away into slumber, an answer rose in her mind — about her own strange illness, and about Sean's near deadly turn as well. She tried to voice it, but was too tired to express the word out loud. Instead, she screamed it in her mind as darkness swept in to take her to a place of nothingness.

 _Arsenic_. They had been poisoned with arsenic, and that last dose, intended for her, must have been larger than the ones in the past. It had been meant to kill her, of that she was sure. And, Sean, dear, sweet Sean, who would do anything in the world for her, had drank most of her lemonade, and now he would probably die.

—

Someone was shaking her vigorously, and she waved her hand at them trying to get them to stop. "Rachel, wake up." The voice made her smile; she liked the voice, but she still wanted to sleep. The shaking continued and finally more from annoyance than anything else, she opened her eyes. Rachel realized she was lying down; she had been standing up the last time her eyes were open, wasn't she? Now, it was dark; where had the sun gone? _What happened between standing and now?_ _Where was Sean; how was Sean? Was he still alive?_

"Sean," she croaked. "Poisoned, arsenic." Rachel wanted to get that out in case she went back to sleep.

"We know." That was Doc Rios. "If I'd known your symptoms earlier, I would have told you. Seaman York got a small dose of that as he put down rat poison in the lower levels. But nothing like the dose Sean received, or the series of small doses you've received over the last few weeks."

"I hadn't gotten around to talking to you yet. I wish I'd said something earlier."

"We are giving you and Sean massive doses of Vitamin K, and doing chelation therapy. We also did hemodialysis on Sean who seems to have gotten a massive dose of it. He's not out of the woods yet, but he has youth and strength on his side." Rios was saying as Rachel realized someone was holding her hand.

 _He's not dead. He has a chance._ In spite of her resolve, Rachel began to cry - not the loud sobbing type of cry, but one where tears streamed down her cheeks silently. She felt someone wiping her cheeks, and although she was groggy and the room was darkened, she knew that person was Tom Chandler.

"The fact that he was vomiting may have saved his life, although his small size and weight made the hit he took that much worse. He's got a chance; we've just got to hope he rallies." Rios' voice faded as he went into the next room where Sean was located.

"Tom?" she croaked. Her throat felt like the Sahara desert had taken up residence.

"Right here, baby," he murmured, his fingers playing back and forth across her knuckles. It was a comforting gesture, and she tightened her grip on his.

"Sorenson did this."

"How could he? He's under armed guard all the time."

Rachel couldn't think of proof, but Beatrice's words came back to her. _He was thirsty, so he drank all of your lemonade. He said it tasted funny . . ._

"Lemonade, thermos. Check it,"

Tom stood up. "Okay, I'll get it tested right away. We still can't prove anything, but it will solve one mystery." He went to pull away, but she felt suddenly afraid, and tightened her grip on his hand.

"Don't go," she said, hating her show of weakness. _Get a grip, Rachel._

"I'll be right back," Tom went out of the room, and she heard him taking quietly to someone. Then he returned. "I sent someone to fetch your thermos; then we can have it tested. I'm going to talk to Mike, and get him to search Sorenson's room. We will see if we can find some proof." He sat back down, retrieving her hand.

Rachel closed her eyes, her mind drifting back over the last couple weeks. It had to be Sorenson; every time she had gotten sick, he had been there. But, there were times when he was there that she didn't get sick, too. That lemonade thermos would settle the question, though. The lemonade was tart, so arsenic would probably just make it taste a little sweeter and slightly metallic. It could easily be attributed to saccharin which was fake sweetener with an aftertaste.

When she opened her eyes again, Tom wasn't there. She must have fallen asleep again. _Crap, how long had she been asleep?_ She heard Rios talking quietly to Tom in the outer room. "These tests show that his organs may be shutting down especially his kidneys. He may never wake up. We'll know in the next 24 hours; if he survives tomorrow, then he's got a chance."

 _No, not Sean. He drank the poison that was meant to kill me._ She wanted to cry out against the injustice of it, but she was still too tired. Tears slipped down her cheeks again, and all of her self admonitions to get a grip and be strong failed her. If he died because of her, she would never forgive herself.

"What about Doctor Scott?" Tom asked.

"She will survive, although she'll have to be careful about drinking alcohol. Her liver and possibly her kidneys could be compromised from this; she's had longer exposure, although at a lower dose. I just don't have all of the tests on the ship, that I would have in a hospital. Some of this is a guess based on my experience."

"Is Doctor Scott's fatigue related to the arsenic poisoning?"

"Yes and no, it's probably due to what we've had to do to get the arsenic out of her system. Chelation has its own set of side effects, as the drugs can cause more problems than the actual problem. However, the toxicity level I found in her urinalysis makes that option a vital part of the process. That's for recent ingestion. The vitamin K is for longer exposure binding to the arsenic and allowing it to be flushed out."

"Why isn't it working in Sean?" Tom asked as Rachel strained to hear the answer.

"The single dose of arsenic he received was a lot higher, and he also had a bad allergic reaction to something as well. I think it is working, but there's only so much that his body can take as we work to remove the arsenic. While it's in his system, its wreaking havoc on his organs. If he can hang on through tomorrow, all my ministrations will have had time to work. Then he'll be starting with a clean slate, and we will be able to tell how much damage it's caused to his body, especially his kidneys, liver and heart."

"So, we wait and pray then." Tom's voice was soft, but Rachel could hear the tension in his tone. "He's a strong kid."

"Yes, he is. That's definitely in his favor."

"Okay, Doc, thanks for the update." She heard him walking back into her room, sitting back down next to her bed.

"Sean's a fighter," she whispered not sure if he could hear her or not.

"No one's throwing in the towel, Rachel," Tom replied in kind. "The whole ship is pulling for him — Bacon, Tex and Andrea have been spreading the news. He's not alone in this."

"Did you test the thermos?"

"It's being tested now, and we'll know in a bit. In the meantime, you need to rest, and let Doc Rios' medicine do its thing." Tom had taken her hand again, and she started to cry. "Don't cry, baby. Everything is going to work out. Try not to worry." Tom's voice was a tender refuge from her scattered thoughts that were like fall leaves swirling in the winds of her disconsolate being.

"It should have been me fighting for my life. He's been dealt such a shitty hand, and now this."

"Yes, he's gotten a raw deal, but he is still alive. He survived when he should have been destroyed. He will survive this, too, and when he does, his new nickname is going to be "Lucky", because he is."

"He's a monarch butterfly, flitting among the weeds and wildflowers of life," Rachel sighed. "Of course, I better not let him hear me saying that."

"No," Tom chuckled in return, "most boys don't want to be called butterfly anything, and flitting is definitely out."

In spite of her heavy heart, Rachel smiled.

"Don't worry, babe. If anybody can survive this, it will be Sean Dorsan."

Rachel's mind was drifting again; she didn't realize how tired she was, how easy it was to loose the bonds of the present world and drift away into nothingness. The scientific portion of her brain chalked it up to the arsenic poisoning and treatments. Chelation was known to cause lethargy and headaches. The non-scientific part of her mind just wanted to ride in a dusty pickup along a road, passing country homes with clothes hanging on the line, a hammock strung between two trees, and at the edges of everything, a field full of sunflowers blowing lazily in the summer breeze.

The room was lighter when Rachel opened her eyes again, and she felt worlds better. Her gaze halted at the chair next to her bed. Tom was leaning back, eyes closed, his hands clasped together across his chest with his feet propped up on a carton. Next to him on the nightstand was his computer and some papers. _He must be conducting ships business from the infirmary_. Rachel smiled to herself. His sleeping position didn't look that comfortable, but she figured there would be no way to get him to leave his sentinel position near her sick bed, discomfort or no. She was sure people had tried.

Rachel liked looking at him; his presence evoked feelings in her — sometimes lustful, but always warm and fuzzy. Rachel figured this had to be love, because she'd never felt this way about anybody else, and as odd as it was to feel this connected, it was something that had filled a hole inside her that she didn't know she possessed. When they were separated a longing to be near him whispered through her; in his presence, even sleeping, it evaporated, replaced by a warmth that filled her chest, and an unspoken joy that bubbled up in her.

The outward expression was her smile, knowing that it didn't convey even one tenth of what she felt; she had no words to express that. And so, she smiled knowing that one day, she might find the words to express to him how she felt all the way down into the deep recesses of her soul without sounding like a cliche-ridden Hallmark card.

Rachel had to admit that it was getting easier to let him in; surprising since so little time had passed in their relationship solidification. It was as if she'd been waiting for the right person to come along so that she could toss her reserved nature to the four winds, not with everybody, but just with him and be her unabashed, non-hesitant self.

Rachel sat up in the hospital bed, swinging her feet over the side, testing herself. She wasn't dizzy anymore, and her stomach no longer felt like it was going to heave all of the food she'd eaten for the last three days. All in all, she felt better than she had in days, as she realized that the headache that prowled the periphery of her conscious mind no longer pushed on her resolve. It's absence was a relief, although she had gotten so used to it being there, that it's absence was strange.

Carefully, still holding the bed, she placed her feet on the deck, it's coolness not entirely welcome by her feet. She curled her toes and turned her feet over so that she was walking on the edges. Looking around for her shoes, she saw only socks but no trainers. Guess she wasn't going to make a run for it.

At least she was in her sweat pants and T-shirt, and not that God awful hospital gown that opened in the back to show her posterior to the world. There was something to be said for being onboard a destroyer far from a hospital supply store. She wondered idly about who had undressed her, but let that thought pass.

Rachel inched into the outer room looking for Sean. He was her top concern. _Had he survived the night?_ Doctor Rios saw her and walked briskly in her direction.

"You're up," he stopped in front of her, looking at the socks in her hand. "Why don't you sit and put those on." He pointed at a silver, metallic chair on the wall behind her.

"How's Sean?" She pulled one sock then the other over her feet, grateful for the warmth they provided. She looked up into Doc Rios' worried frown.

"He's still alive. It was a rough night, though." Rios didn't look like he wanted to go into detail, but she wanted to know more than he seemed willing to offer which made her angry.

"What's his prognosis?" Rachel tried to keep the annoyance out of her tone.

"50/50," Rios replied hesitantly. "If he survives today, his chances will go up. Beatrice and the Captain have been here most of the night into this morning. The rest of the crew has been stopping by asking for updates. Is the Captain still asleep?"

"Yes, let him sleep. He looks like he can use it." Rachel moved towards the second curtained area. "Is Sean in there?"

"Yes, he is still unconscious and he's on a respirator." Rios was right beside her. "You might want to wait to see him."

"No, I want to see him now," Rachel snapped at Rios and was instantly regretful. "I'm sorry, Doc." Rios shrugged and stepped back.

Rachel took a deep breath, steeling herself for what she was about to see, but she wasn't prepared for thin, ashen faced boy she saw lying in the bed in front of her. To his left, sat Beatrice, slumped, eyes closed, looking exhausted. She had been crying, and Rachel could see why. If not for the steady beat of the respirator and the rise and fall of Sean's chest, she would have thought him dead. His eyes were taped, his hands strapped down with tubes running into him and a monitor signaling that his heart was still beating.

Rachel sank into the chair next to Beatrice's and lowered her head into her hands. Seeing Sean, she knew it was so much worse than she feared, and the emotional roller coaster of the past hours swept over her.

 _He is hanging on by a thread, and it is all my fault,_ she thought. _If I hadn't allowed the Captain to assign Sean to work for me, he wouldn't be in this state._ Sorrow shredded her insides, her hopes for Sean's recovery disintegrating as she watched him fighting a losing battle to live. It wasn't over until his heart gave out; it wasn't over until he stopped breathing. But the respirator is breathing for him, and his heart would keep beating as long as it forced air in and out of him.

Rios's words from last night came back to her. In her heart of hearts, she felt that if he recovered, it would be a miracle. She sobbed softly into her hands, the shock of what he looked like sinking around her like a depressive blanket of darkness.

Rachel felt hands on her shoulders and heard Tom whisper in her ear, "He's still alive, babe. Don't give up on him yet." She continued to sob, trying to catch her breath and failing. Tom was picking her up which was a real blow to her persona of being totally independent and self sufficient, but right now she didn't care. She just wanted his connection, his touch — skin against skin - she wrapped her arms around his neck.

Tom placed her back in the bed, pulling the covers up, as she flipped away from looking at anyone, on her side, facing the wall. He brushed her hair back, walked around the bed with a warm, wet wash cloth and wiped her face. "Doc Rios is going to give you something to sleep; rest is your best medicine right now."

"He's so small," she whispered, her eyes still closed. "I didn't realize he was that small."

"Everybody looks small in a hospital bed, baby. And he's not dead, not yet. I'm not giving up hope, and you can't either."

Rachel closed her eyes again unable to stop the torrent of tears streaming down her face. Her throat thickened with the sobs; she felt a prick in her arm and a warmth where Doctor Rios injected her.

"She's hysterical," she heard Rios say, and while she wanted to argue with him, she didn't want the logical, scientific part of her to be right. Because if that rational part was correct and not skewed by exhaustion, fear and physical distress, Sean would not survive, and the man responsible for his demise would never be proven a murderer once more.

The pain and grief of the death of one person is always magnified, whereas the death of millions is muted by the sheer volume of the travesty.

Rachel's last thought before she fell completely into a drug-induced slumber was the fact that no matter whether Sean Dorsan survived or not — and she was pretty sure he wouldn't — Neils Sorenson had to die. How he would meet his end, she did not know, but who would kill him was without question. Tom said they had no proof of his guilt; Rachel knew he was guilty, proof or no.

As she spiraled into nothingness, she made the decision to kill him. Now, there only remained the method she would use.

Sorenson had hurt and probably killed the last person to cross his path, an innocent child who had struggled and survived in a world of poverty and decay, only to fall prey to a psychotic man who killed without mercy. It was only fitting that Sorenson die in the same fashion as he had subjected humanity to, and she had become the harbinger of his demise. It was only a matter of time.


	19. Chapter 19 - When I Live My Dream

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When I live my dream, please be there to meet me

\- David Bowie (When I Live My Dream)

Something woke Rachel up; she wasn't sure what. One thing she was sure of was that she was still in the infirmary, and that Tom was still close by. That latter feeling was confirmed when she looked at the chair he had formerly been sleeping in. Now, he was busy typing on his laptop, looking at figures and making notations. She knew that his computer was connected to the CIC and the Bridge. He also got updates from various departments like Engineering, so he was probably working or responding to feedback he was receiving from the rest of the ship.

Rachel stretched as she watched him, although he seemed very much into what he was doing. He also seemed relaxed, balancing the laptop on his lap as he typed away. Working, that's what she should be doing, not hold up in one of the sick beds in the infirmary. She didn't feel sick anymore, which was a relief, and she no longer felt exhausted. She wasn't sure how much time had passed since Doc Rios had given her that shot; she suspected a good eight hours had transpired if she knew her medications well enough.

She swung her feet over the side of the hospital bed, and looked down at the deck frowning. She remembered the coolness of the floor, and looked about for socks or shoes to avoid freezing her feet and toes again. She felt his presence before she saw that he had moved. "Hi," she whispered. "I'm looking for my footwear."

Tom sat on the bed next to her producing a pair of socks. "How do you feel?" He rubbed her back which she liked. "Still tired or is that disappearing."

Rachel realized that she had been exhausted, a pressure she'd pushed against for the last couple weeks. She remembered sitting tired-eyed and slumping at her desk, all the while wondering why a full 8-9 hours of sleep wasn't enough. Now she felt mostly rested; the heavy, drained, tired feeling only a fleeting pressure at the periphery of her better feelings. "I feel better," she watched with amusement as Tom tugged at her sweat pants and put her socks on for her.

"Good, and we have some good news, too," Tom smiled at her, plopping her trainers on the floor. "You don't need those. Anyway, while you were sleeping the day away, Sean has made quite a bit of progress. As Doc Rios so eloquently put it, 'I'll be damned, that boy is rallying. I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't seen it.' He hasn't woken up yet, but it's just a matter of time. Rios is going to remove the respirator later on this evening, and then we just need to wait for him to wake up."

Rachel leaned against him trying not to start crying again. She couldn't believe what an emotional wreck she had become in the last few days. It was so not like her, and yet, here she sat once again on the verge of tears, this time happy ones, but tears nonetheless. "I guess I"m going to start crying again," she groaned, more to herself than anybody.

Tom chuckled, "You've been through a lot, so crying is expected. I showered and put on two T-shirts under my shirt this time, so I'd be more absorbent."

Rachel looked at him, her mouth quirking into a smile and then breaking into laughter, "That is the silliest thing I've ever heard."

"Got you to laugh, didn't it?" Tom chuckled, looking very satisfied with his joke. "So, you ready to go see Sean?" he asked helping her off the bed. She stood up steadying herself; it had been a number of hours since she'd last stood, so she felt a bit unsteady. It was, however, nowhere near how she'd felt the last time she'd done it. Not only was that time frightening, but if it had been anyone but Tom carrying her, she would have been mortified. He made being vulnerable so much easier, and he never commented or joked about his kindnesses.

"Yes, let's see Sean," she was mentally steeling herself for what might be a repeat of the last time she'd saw him.

As if reading her mind, Tom said, "He's still very small in that hospital bed, and he's still asleep." The unspoken elephant in the room was going to be her reaction to seeing him in that state. "You know, even I look small in a hospital bed; it must have something to do with being helpless to change your situation. I think it's a mental thing." Tom continued talking as they drew closer to the curtained room that held Sean.

When he drew the curtain back, Rachel stared at the sleeping form in the bed. Sean's face was less pasty, and while there wasn't a lot of color in his face, at least he didn't look dead. He still looked small, Rachel had to concede, not as small as he looked last time. Perhaps, her overtired, overstressed mind had conjured up a skewed image of him, and for that, she was happy. He didn't look like the picture of health, but he no longer resembled someone on the precipice of death.

Rachel relaxed leaning against Tom, looking past Sean in the bed to Beatrice sitting on the other side. She was awake, and she smiled at Rachel. She looked relieved, although Rachel wasn't sure if it was because Sean wasn't dead or that she was standing there alive. "Beatrice," Rachel admonished gently, "have you gotten any sleep at all?

At the sound of her name, Beatrice perked up, smiling. "I got some sleep, but I didn't want to leave until I heard that my two best friends weren't going to die while I was gone." Beatrice was joking, but her words hit close to the mark especially where Sean was concerned.

"Well, now that we appear to be on the upswing, you might want to take a shower and get something to eat, maybe lay down and rest?"

Beatrice laughed, "Now I feel better."

"Why?" Rachel grinned at her. _It was so good to see her smiling_.

"Because you sound like you again. Now, if only Sean would wake up." She looked a little sad when she said it, but her eyes also contained hope. It reminded Rachel of that poem by Emily Dickinson: "Hope is that thing with feathers, that perches in the soul…" Rachel never remembered the rest of it, but it always applied in situations where hope bloomed where there should be none.

Rachel remembered that when she was in Sierra Leone working for the CDC and the World Health Organization. In the midst of one of the worst outbreaks; over 14000 cases and almost 4000 deaths, Rachel had seen great fear, but she'd also seen great hope in the eyes of the afflicted and the workers trying to help them.

Sean wasn't an ebola victim, but his prognosis had been dire; she had been struck by the hopelessness of the situation last night, but others had found hope. Tom called him Lucky, and that he was. He was surviving when he should have died; that was a relief, but it also presented Rachel with a conundrum. When she was sure Sean would die, it seemed a forgone conclusion that she would avenge his death by killing Sorenson.

Now that he wasn't going to die — and Rachel was extremely grateful for this turn of events — she was in a quandary. This wasn't something she could casually drop in conversation with Tom. Pass the potatoes, sweetheart, and oh-by-the-way I was planning on killing Neils. That simply wouldn't fly.

She had contemplated murder, not just thought about it, but had resolved to do it. That wasn't exactly a conversation you had with your lover, no matter how much you trusted him. Tom was also a by-the-book officer, although he would probably listen to her anyway. However, she didn't want that to become the elephant in the room between them.

Rachel could have chalked it up to a lapse in sanity, but it would have been a bald faced lie. She wasn't insane contemplating Niels' death; she had never been more sane in her life. If he had killed Sean, he deserved to die. Period. Full stop. End of story. Now that Sean looked like he was going to survive, her resolve had gone into the gray areas — those places where she might kill Neils instead of she would definitely kill him as soon as she figured out how. So, as she leaned against Tom, smiling at Beatrice and feeling better than she had in days, she knew that like always, she would have to figure this one out on her own.

This wouldn't be the first time either; she had always gone it alone. _Did she still want him dead? Unfortunately, her answer was still a resounding yes._ The fact that Sean was going to live had little to do with the fact that Neils had nearly killed him. On that point, the scales remained skewed.

Sorenson had also murdered billions of people; that fact remained an oozing, green blot on her caring and kindness responses. Finally, Neils' talk, walk and general manner was infuriating. His voice only knew grating, whining and complaining tones. Not that a person should be killed because they're a snot nosed cretin who yammered on incessantly. If that were the case, half of the rich and famous would be dead for being insufferable idiots.

Rachel loathed and despised Neils; his presence made her physically ill, even without the influence of arsenic in her system. The headaches took on a life of their own simply because they breathed the same air. Of that, Rachel was sure.

"Did the thermos tests come back," Rachel murmured as she took a seat next to Sean's bed. When she looked at Tom, she saw that he was frowning as he ran his hands through his hair. "I guess from your look, I was correct?"

"Yes," Tom replied. "The little lemonade that was left was full of arsenic, and some thing else we haven't determined. Doc Rios thinks that 'something else' is what incited Sean's extreme allergic reaction."

"Hmmmm," Rachel replied, but said no more. She watched Sean sleeping, trying to make up her mind about Neils' continued existence. She wasn't a killer; that much was true. But, if she had no choice, she thought she could do it, and while that thought disturbed her immensely, it didn't disturb her enough to lessen her conviction. In a situation where her back was against the wall, she would defend her life. Most people would. In order to kill Neils, though, she would need to plan, catch him off guard and move in for the kill. But, could she cold heartedly plan an execution?

That portion of premeditation is what Rachel didn't think she had in her. Rachel didn't believe she could coldly plan out how killing somebody. She was more spur of the moment, hit somebody in the head with a shovel type. While that wasn't that great either, it was better than Neils had shown humanity. He had gone about his mission, calculating every factor for his best outcome not caring about the men, women and children he killed in the process. Neils had planned his work and worked his plan and most of humanity had died in the process.

Rachel remembered reading about when the AIDS epidemic had been at its peak; there had been tales of people who deliberately had sex with others knowing they were infected. These people reminded her of Neils; they loved the idea of hurting others and they executed their heartless plans with steely resolve. If she were to go to jail for killing someone, it would be sheer loss of temper and temporary loss of sanity that drove her to it.

"We can't prove the Sorenson is responsible. His quarters were searched, and we found nothing." It was as if Tom had read her mind as his last statement pulled her out of her reverie and focused on the problem.

"I know it was him," Rachel replied. "Whether I can prove it or not."

"Why are you so sure?" Beatrice asked.

"The look he gave me; he knew what was going on, and he was smiling and happy about it, although he tried to hide it. When Sean fell, he smiled." Rage anew roiled in her, every muscle tensed. _Where was a shovel when you needed one?_

"We can't prove that he was smiling, because he did anything. He could just be happy because he saw trouble happening." Tom replied. _The voice of reason, but I still don't believe it._

"He knew before it started. I can't prove it, but I saw the look he gave them." Rachel waved her hands in the general direction of Sean and Beatrice. "I knew something was about to happen; I don't know how. I just did. And, the trouble was all around Neils."

Tom's brow furrowed, his eyes thoughtful. "We have no tangible proof."

"I heard you the first time," Rachel snapped, immediately regretting it. It wasn't Tom's fault, after all. "I'm sorry."

"I know you're under stress," Tom replied, giving her his lopsided, I-forgive-you-all grin. She didn't know why she always felt that Tom would discard her at the first sign of trouble. Rachel admonished herself; she had to get over those feelings, because he proved time and again that wasn't true. He was there for the long term, and she needed to relax into his loyalty. It wasn't easy; she had past baggage to contend with, not deal with, but beat back into submission. The past was the past, and this was the present. Thomas Chandler was not only honorable, but he was proving to be a rock she could lean on.

It was such a weird feeling, not one she had experienced since she was young. With the death of her mother, she had put as much distance between herself and the rest of humanity as she could. Her brilliance lay partly in the fact that she escaped into the written, scientific world, never slowing down long enough in her single-minded pursuit to become the best at defeating viruses. Become the best because her mother had died from a virus. Of all her past baggage, that one was the size of a steamer trunk.

Beatrice stood up suddenly interrupting Rachel's wool gathering; she stood looking at Sean in the bed. His eyes were open and blinking steadily, slowly.

"Sean," Rachel said. She felt Tom standing next to her. "Seanie, can you hear me?"

He continued to blink staring at the ceiling. Doctor Rios entered the area. "Sean," he said louder than they had before. "Sean Dorsan." Sean didn't react, instead closing his eyes. "Sean Dorsan." Rios clapped his hands as he said it.

"He's probably still waking up. I want to get the respirator out of his throat. That will help with his recovery." Rios signaled his nurse who had been standing on the outskirts of the room. "Could we clear the room so we can work on him?" Rios sounded almost apologetic, half shrugging as he came close to the bed. Rachel, Beatrice and Tom trooped out into the common area of the infirmary.

"That's a good sign," Rachel said, grabbing a seat on the same steel chair she'd sat on earlier. It was still uncomfortable and chilly, but one can't be picky about seating accommodations in the infirmary of a destroyer.

"Tom smiled at both Beatrice and Rachel, "He's going to make it. That kid is really lucky."

"Yes," Beatrice was all smiles as well. "Now maybe we can finish our conversation." Both Tom and Rachel looked at her expectantly. "We were talking about music. He knows quite a bit about Jamaican music. I was surprised."

Rachel smiled to herself. He must have memorized her book on Jamaican Reggae he borrowed last week.

"He knows more than me, I think," Beatrice continued. "He talked about everybody from Bob Marley to Shabba Ranks. He even knew who Lee "Scratch" Perry and Yellowman were." Rachel was chuckling to herself by that point, and Beatrice slowed looking at her, puzzled.

"Nothing," Rachel said, waving her off before she could form a question. "He just has a really eclectic sense of things he's learned."

Beatrice accepted Rachel's explanation and continued talking about Sean's knowledge of reggae. Rachel looked at Tom; his eyebrows were raised slightly. Rachel chuckled softly, shaking her head in the negative. Tom read the gesture as he'd find out later, and moved the conversation along. "Looks like he's going to wake up."

Rachel realized that her shoulders and neck was hurting, more soreness than anything. She had finally relaxed and her muscles reflected that tension she'd been carrying. I could use a massage, maybe, a back rub. Her gaze drifted to Tom who was talking to Beatrice. She squelched her thoughts before allowing the massage scene to go too far. Had it been only hours ago that she was plotting a man's demise? Now, she couldn't even think along those lines.

As vile as Neils Sorenson was, she didn't have it in her to kill with premeditation. If she was defending her life, it would be a different story. One does what one must in a life and death situation. This situation was rapidly changing, and with it her level of enmity. She still hated him; that hadn't changed. But now, she just wanted him gone from her presence, and the only way to do that effectively was to find a dispersal method that didn't involve killing the patient in the process.

Before the crisis, Rachel had been toying with the idea of a contagious cure, and how it might be a more viable solution to mass distribution via some other methods like aerosol and the like. She just wasn't sure yet how to accomplish it. It would be easier if Neils was dead, because she would have access to all of his body parts. As tempting as that sounded, she could probably accomplish the task by taking small pieces of his lungs, biopsies as it were, and use that tissue to fabricate something that could be injected and spread that way. It was just an idea, and she hadn't shared it with anybody yet. When she determined that Neils needed to die, the efficacy of her plan seemed simpler. Now that her conscience had kicked back in, she was less confident of the plan.

Doctor Rios emerged from the curtained off area where Sean was laying with a smile on his face. "Removal of the respirator was successful, and he coughed and started breathing on his own again. The allergic reaction is almost gone, and his lungs and throat appear clear."

"Is he awake?" Rachel asked, hoping against hope for an affirmative answer.

"He is awake, but he's still pretty groggy. The drugs I gave him to induce the coma are still in his system, but I think the worst of it is over. We'll just have to wait and see if there was any permanent damage caused by everything that happened to him."

"But, for right now he's stable?" Tom interjected. He rested his hands on Rachel's shoulders, standing behind her looking at Rios. It was an unconscious move on his part, but Rachel felt the connection they shared. It was becoming second nature for him to touch her.

"Yes, he's stable, and I believe in a couple hours, he'll be talking, well, croaking. His throat is still inflamed, but nowhere near as bad as it was."

Rachel felt Tom relax and sigh behind her. "That's good," he said. "So, now we just wait."

"Yes," Rios replied. He appeared satisfied with the new pronouncement and diagnosis. It hadn't been so long ago that he was sure that Sean would die. However, Sean seemed to have beat the odds once more, and Rachel resisted the urge to clap and dance. Not only would that behavior appear silly, she wasn't that good at dancing, which would only compound the silliness.

"Do you want to return to bed, Rachel?" Tom was still standing behind her.

"If I have to get back in that bed, I think I'm going to scream."

"As long as you agree to take it easy, Doctor Scott," Rios responded, "you can go back to your stateroom on the proviso that if anything unusual starts to happen to you — nosebleeds, dizziness, vomiting, etc. — that you return here immediately. I will call you when Sean wakes up fully."

"No, I think I might just sit with him until he wakes up," Rachel replied, reluctant to leave Sean to wake up alone.

"I will stay with him, Rachel. And, if he wakes up before you return, I will tell him you needed rest too, and explain to him what happened."

That was true; Sean didn't know what happened to him in the past 24 hours. All he knew was that one moment he was fine, and the next moment he couldn't breathe and passed out. Rachel was the last person he saw, besides being briefly with Doctor Rios. And, she had told him everything would be alright. Rachel felt a bit squeamish about leaving him, feeling that she should be the first person he saw when he woke up. Conflicted, she decided to stay, settling back into the uncomfortable visitor's chair in his room. She was still very tired, but at least she could keep her eyes open now, so that was progress.

Sean appeared to be sleeping again, and Beatrice went back to reading to him the book she had been reading, a romantic, historical novel about Vikings and the women they loved. Rachel supposed that if anything was going to snap him back to reality, it would be Beatrice's novel. He liked Beatrice, but he had once commented that her reading was too fanciful for his tastes. Rachel figured Vikings in love probably fell into that category.

Tom settled down next to her to wait, looking even more uncomfortable than she felt in the straight back, metal chair. After about 30 minutes, he rose and started pacing in the outer area. Rachel knew he had things to do, but she didn't know how to shoo him out of the infirmary without a fight. He reminded her of a caged lion. He was a man of action, and sitting in an infirmary after the patients were on their way to a full recovery was not his idea of action. Now that both she and Sean were on the upswing, she could see his mind switch back to ship's business.

Tom came back into where she and Beatrice were sitting, looking again at Sean then at Rachel. "I think you should go back to your quarters, and let Beatrice hold down the fort for a couple hours. You can take a shower, and relax in the comfort of your quarters. If anything changes, Beatrice can come for you. Right, Beatrice?"

"Yes, sir. That would be fine with me."

Tom's suggestion sounded more like an order, and Rachel had to squelch her natural inclination to balk against his authority, opting instead for a thoughtful pause where she could weigh the options. On one hand, a shower and sitting on her couch sounded better than the metal chair she presently occupied, but on the other hand, she wouldn't be there if Sean woke in the meantime.

Either way had its advantages and disadvantages, but in the end she opted for the shower. Tom offered to walk her to her quarters, and even offered to stay while she showered should she need assistance. In turn, he also offered to stay with Sean while Beatrice went and helped her. She opted for his assistance, wanting some alone time with him where they could just sit and relax.

So much had happened in the last 48 hours that Rachel felt she needed time to process it all, and talking to someone always helped. Talking to Tom was increasingly easy, and she hadn't given up on pressing her theory that Neils was responsible. The test results on her thermos revealed that arsenic levels were five times normal, plus there was some unidentifiable substance thrown in for good measure. Neils wanted her either dead from an overdose of arsenic or the allergic reaction Sean had experienced from the unknown substance Rios found.

Rios had said that since they didn't have a full lab setup, he could only make wild guesses at the second substance. He had kept some of it until they reached a lab with full services; he would then retest it and run it again. The arsenic was easy to identify, if you knew that you were looking for it, so at least that portion of it was settled.

They made their way slowly down the corridor, Rachel resisting the urge to hold on to Tom. As they passed people in the corridor, she tried to look better than she felt, smiling at each person and giving them a small wave. By the time they reached her quarters, she was tired again. However, knowing the cause of her enduring fatigue made it a lot less annoying and worrisome. It would dissipate with the arsenic in her system and the time it took for her to heal from any damage it caused. Rachel always marveled at the ability of the human body to mend itself. She just hoped that the damage to her body wasn't too extensive. Doc Rios had told her he didn't think it was, but she still worried.

As the door to her quarters slid shut, Rachel sank gratefully on to her sofa, closing her eyes briefly against the mounting fatigue. She had been in great shape when this began, yet she felt like she'd aged 40 years in the past few weeks. When Rachel opened her eyes, she saw Tom watching her, his brow furrowed and his blue eyes slightly squinted. "Don't worry, I'm just a bit tired."

"So, you need to get showered and then to bed," Tom said. "Do you need help with the shower?" For a moment, Rachel thought there was more in his words than simple helpfulness, that he was proposing something more, but one look at his face and she knew that was just wishful thinking. He looked like he was ready to carry her to the shower, a prospect that wasn't all that disagreeable, but she had to admit that she wasn't up for a wild night in the sack with him. That was also disappointing, but she figured now that she wasn't getting a daily dose of arsenic, her desires would return with the departure of her fatigue and nausea.

"I can manage. Just hang around in case I pass out." Rachel gave him her best smile and leaned to stand with every intention of heading for the bathroom. Her fatigue was stronger than her resolve, and she sank back into he comfort of the sofa.

"I'll just hang out near the bathroom until you're done," Tom volunteered with a grin. "It's not like I'm unfamiliar with you." Rachel laughed. It was sweet of him, being willing to stand in a steamed up room while she stood under the hot shower. He would be completely overheated by the time she was done, and she didn't really feel like she was going to pass out. She just liked his company.

"You could join me," she invited, giving him her sweetest look. "Then, you'd be doubly sure I didn't pass out."

It started as a joke on Rachel's part, but the more she thought about it, the more she warmed to the idea. "Please." She wanted Tom to stay.

There is always a beat pause between when you suggest something and the other person's reaction to the suggestion. At first, Rachel was sure he was going to say no, but as she watched his feelings cascade across his face, he went from 'No' to 'Maybe' to 'Maybe yes.' "I don't want to hurt you or tire you out any more than you already are."

"I'm not asking you to stay so that we can have wild, off-the-wall, off-the-charts sex. I just want some company."

"Okay," he said. "I'll be happy to stay." He sat down next to her and she leaned her head on his shoulder, closing her eyes briefly. Just a minute to gather her wits, gather strength and fortitude. She'd close her eyes for just a minute. When Rachel opened her eyes again, it was dark and she was laying supine on her sofa with a pillow under her head and a blanket covering her.

At first Rachel thought she was alone, but as her eyes adjusted to the gloom, she could see Tom on the other side of the room, the glow of his laptop bouncing eerily off his face. He seemed absorbed in the facts streaming across the monitor. She didn't move or speak, just watched him. She liked watching him; it made her feel warm, fuzzy and safe knowing that at the the first sign of trouble, he would defend her with all the power and vigor he could bring to bear. Now that Tom knew that arsenic was involved and that someone had deliberately poisoned her, he seemed even more vigilant if that was possible complete with that somber stubbornness to protect her welfare reflected in his furrowed brow, and how he concentrated on the screen in front of him. At least, that's what she'd like to think.

He could be frowning because the fuel gauges were dipping to extra low levels. Rachel had made it perfectly clear that she thought this poison had come from her nemesis, Niels Sorenson. Tom had advised caution, that without concrete proof there was no easy way to accuse a man who was locked up in his quarters and escorted by guards every where he went. While Rachel agreed that Sorenson had little opportunity to pull off the feat, she was equally as sure that he was responsible. It was in his eyes, the way he was observing Sean when he fell, that slight smile that graced his lips for only a few seconds as he watched the boy crumble. Rachel was sure that Neils knew beforehand that Sean's reaction was coming. Rachel believed that with every fiber of her being.

Tom was tapping on his computer keys, looking at more printouts and what looked like small snippets of happenings on the ship. _What was he doing?_ More snippets from the ship flashed across the screen, different areas and people. She could see people bustling down corridors, on the Bridge, in the CIC, mess hall. He looked at them all, so focused on the data streaming along the side of the scenes that he didn't notice she was awake. While Rachel didn't want to snoop, she was curious.

Should she cough, stretch, rise to make her conscious state known to him? Maybe, she should sneak up on him and peek over his shoulder to see what he was doing. That plan brought a smile to her face, but she quickly dashed that idea. Military men were known for dramatic action when startled, and she didn't want to wind up in a choke hold for her trouble.

Clearing her throat seemed a good idea, which she did twice to no avail. Tom continued to stare at the screen completely absorbed. She cleared her throat again, louder this time, and received no reaction for her efforts. Her third cough was louder still, almost ludicrous in its intensity. She thought it sounded like she was coughing up her left lung, all for naught. Finally, she got up off the sofa and moved towards Tom, reaching out carefully to touch his shoulder.

Tapping him lightly on his shoulder, she was completely unprepared for his reaction. In one fell swoop, he rose from his chair, turned, grabbed her by the collar and brought his fist back to punch her stopping just short of implementation. In the gloom, she watched his eyes widen in shock and followed in the next second by a smile and a look of total embarrassment on his face. She was dangling about 1/2 inch off the ground, lifted by her robe collar by his strong arm.

All she managed was a high pitched chirpy sound that vaguely resembled STOP. His fist uncurled, and he instead moved her closer picking her up in his arms in a loving embrace.

"What the hell was that?" Rachel said. He was standing in the middle of her room holding her.

"I'm sorry, I had my headphones on, and I didn't hear you. I'm a little on edge," he said.

"Ya think?" Rachel leaned up and kissed him lightly on the cheek. "What are you doing?"

Tom turned back towards the desk, carrying her with him, and settling back into the office chair he'd been in just a few minutes prior. "Looking for proof that Niels is guilty. I'm reviewing the surveillance tapes for the last 24 hours all over the ship where he's been. You'd think that would be only a few places, but apparently he's talked his guards into going to an unauthorized bathroom, to the showers and a couple stops in the main mess, plus the corridor to your lab, one of the crew's bathrooms along that corridor, and of course, your lab, and outside on that overlook where we first talked about our relationship. He's even managed to talk them into stopping by the crew's library."

"He's been busy," Rachel replied.

"Yes, he has. I need to talk to his guards. He's supposed to only be allowed from his stateroom, to the showers and the bathroom adjacent his quarters, and to your lab and back when requested. All the rest of this, I'd like to know why this was allowed. I will also have to have these places checked."

Rachel shifted on Tom's lap bringing his attention away from the computer screen. "Are you feeling better? Ready for that shower?"

"Yes," she replied. "I can't believe I fell asleep like that. Have you heard anything about Sean? And, how long was I out?"

Tom chuckled. "Yes, you went straight to sleep — mid-sentence. Sean is making progress. He's still out of it, but he's more aware of what's going on around him. And, you were out for the past seven hours or so."

"Wow, that long? My mind rarely shuts down that long."

"You've been under a lot of stress. I think that's a big part of it. And, being poisoned has taken a big toll, of course."

She rested her head on his shoulder, "I'm going to need to get back to work soon. I can't slow down now; the world needs me working."

"I think the world can wait another couple days for your to recover. I want you to rest for a couple days; let's get you and Sean back up on your feet."

"A couple days means that more people will die."

"And, if you collapse completely, you'll be down for weeks and not just a couple days. Take the time."

Rachel sighed. It felt like months had passed since she was last in her lab. She hated feeling helpless, that distaste mitigated only by the fact that she was depending on Tom Chandler, someone who loved her and wouldn't comment later on her lapses of strength. It was nice not to have to be superhuman around him. "Yes, I suppose you're right."

"I know I'm right, and I'm glad you've decided to listen to reason instead of charging ahead in that boneheaded fashion you usually employ."

"Boneheaded? I think my dedication and near obsession with stopping this virus isn't boneheaded," Rachel smiled when she said it. "Perhaps, unduly stubborn or too dedicated might be better terms."

"Boneheaded is the correct term. You passed too dedicated and obsessed about six months ago."

Rachel liked the way Tom's eyes twinkled when he was kidding with her, that "softening-around-the-edges" expression that he reserved just for her. She had seen him joke with other people, but that expression he used with her was different. Maybe, she was just imagining it, but if she was, it was a nice delusion. She didn't think she was, though. Rising from the comfort and warmth of the sofa, Rachel headed towards the shower.

"Gonna take that shower, eh?" Tom said.

"Yes, I'm going to wash the past couple days off of me, I hope."

Rachel closed the bathroom door behind her, leaning back on the steel barrier closing her eyes against the slight lightheadedness that had accompanied the change in position. She was a lot less tired, and the dizziness and roaring in her ears had subsided to a manageable level. She still had some nausea to go along with her dizziness; a hint of nausea making itself known on the periphery of her consciousness, there just enough to annoy but not enough to stop progress.

She leaned over slightly to turn on the water, nearly tumbling forward into the shower, righting herself with a yelp and a groan. She was dizzier than she thought. There was a soft knock at the door.

"Everything okay in there?" Tom's muffled voice filtered through the closed door. "Do you need my assistance?" Rachel could hear the concern in his voice which made her feel warm and cared for, but she refused to give in to that whiny, needy Rachel that rarely surfaced since she was a child when she had asked, no begged her father and God to save her mother. God hadn't seen fit to assist her, and she'd rarely asked again. There was a second knock, this time a bit louder and more insistent.

"No, no, I'm fine, Tom," Rachel answered quickly. The last thing she needed was Tom busting into the small, cramped shower ready to assist and generally making a concerned pain in the neck out of himself. He had already seen her too dependent as it was. "I'm fine, really."

"Okay," Tom answered. He didn't sound convinced, but he didn't open the door either. Rachel suspected that he was now standing, or perhaps leaning against the door waiting to see if he heard any other sounds from her. It made Rachel smile in spite of her dogged determination not to appear wimpy. She knew that she had someone who would always have her back, always be ready to step in if she crumbled. It gave her a feeling, she'd not experienced since her mother died, that she was safe and loved. More and more Rachel felt that vibration from him, and through this dark time, even more so.

The hot water that streamed down Rachel's back felt so good that she didn't want it to end. There was limited water on a destroyer, but she doubted that her overly long shower would drain the hot water tank, and for once, she allowed herself this small luxury. Her body felt like it had gone through a ringer and squeezed out the other end wrenched and sore. Every movement produced pain, but it was a lot diminished from earlier which Rachel was grateful for. The water felt like it was washing away a level of grime that comes from being sick.

"Are you okay in there?" Tom's muffled voice came through the closed door. She was right; he was standing just on the other side, ready to spring into action if necessary. The thought was at once comforting and annoying, the former because he was there, and the latter from her independent streak. She didn't need him leaping into rescue her even though the thought that he would was comforting.

"Yes, I'm fine," Rachel said. With reluctance, she stepped out of the shower turning it off and picking up a towel to dry herself off. She wrapped a second towel around her wet hair, whipped the condensation buildup on the mirror and stared at herself. _I look like a hot mess_ , she thought borrowing one of Beatrice's phrases, _but at least I'm alive._

Rachel opened the shower door, and stepped into Tom's chest as he wrapped his arms around her pulling her close. She smiled looking up at him. "You were hovering around the door."

"No," he said although his smile said otherwise. "I was just passing by, and you walked into me."

His statement elicited a giggle from her; he continued to hold her. "I'm okay," she said finally.

"I know."

Tom gently massaged her shoulders alternating with rubbing her back. As he repeated the action, she relaxed into him, closing her eyes and smiling to herself. A girl could get used to this kind of dependency.

"I should get dressed so we can go see Sean," Rachel said, but she made no attempt to break their embrace.

"In a couple minutes," Tom said. "It feels good to hold you this way after all that's happened." They stood that way for another minute, before he released her. She blinked, opening her eyes looking up at him. _God, you're beautiful._ Then she busied herself getting ready to leave her quarters.

.

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Hi guys, so sorry for the delay.

I had another writing assignment that took up most of my time for a short while, and by the time I got back to this story, the new season had premiered. I must admit that the direction they went with the show stopped my writing of this story in its tracks. I watched it a couple weeks to see if there was some AHA, bad dream turnaround, but apparently that's not the case. So, this story is now gone into the alternative universe section. I will have the next chunk up in a few days as I have my summers to myself, and this story was writing itself.


	20. Chapter 20 - Awakened

Sludge, nothingness and sludge.

Above all else, Sean was struck by the quietness surrounding him. He had been walking and walking through air that felt like sludge, but he neither found people nor grew tired from his efforts. At first, he figured it was because he was walking on a paved highway that wound around, up and down with the constant promise of mountains in the distance. After a long while, he noticed his lack of need: food, water, rest — all these things hung just outside of his world. He could reach for them if he wanted or needed, but he didn't do either. It simply seemed a waste of time and energy on his part. So, he trudged, doggedly, determined and consistently through sludge.

He pondered the probability that he might be dead, scratching that thought because he didn't think God would make heaven so damned boring. He thought the opposite for a few seconds; but the devil didn't strike him as the sort that would doom a man to walking endlessly through thicker than normal air as a form of hell. Again, it was too damned boring to be true. From God, he expected cherubs and angels, a heavenly choir at the very least. And. of course. hell had to come with the requisite burning, brimstone and bolts of lightening crashing, punctuated by maniacal laughter from something unrecognizable.

This place produced none of those things; it was just peaceful, endlessly the correct temperature and tedious. He looked up; the sky was a perfect blue punctuated by fluffy clouds. He thought of it as a Hallmark card or a backdrop to a commercial for a luxury car; things were just that perfect. He sighed watching the clouds drift by above. He sat down by the side of the road, watching the clouds and contemplating his situation.

Where had he been before he woke up here? He couldn't remember.

"I was on a ship, and there was screaming," he said to the empty road finally after much thought. "Was that me screaming?" He shuddered as a memory danced just outside his consciousness. It gave him a chill, and he went back to looking at the clouds.

"A cat and a bird," he said marveling at how his voice seemed to echo. "Those clouds look like Looney Toons characters."

"Come back, Sean." The voice whispered in the echo his voice had just made. "You've got to wake up." He turned at looked back down the road from where had come. Night was falling but in a really weird way. It was darker the further he looked back down the road. He looked forward, and there was sunshine, blue skies and brightness. The darkness seemed alive, moving steadily down that road towards him, a phantom that brought the twilight. Little tendrils explored the front, seeming to reach and pull at the light.

Sean rose and started walking again. "Such a strange way to get to nightfall," he said to himself. Since he'd landed on this road, he had taken to having conversations with himself. There was seldom an answer, except every now and again, he heard someone familiar pleading with him to come back.

 _Who was that woman, and why did she sound so sad?_ He'd meant to stop and listen intently lest she have some advice on how he was supposed to get back to where she was, if only to ask her why she was crying. However, he'd look back down the road at the gloom, steadily advancing and he'd shook off that bit of melancholy, and strode towards the brightness.

Today, there was another voice, this one funny, lilting and musical. Sean liked that voice; it was the sound of sunshine. She was reading something he shouldn't have liked, but on this road where there wasn't much to do or think about, he listened carefully, because the voice was soft and seemed to drift like flower petals on the wind. If he hummed, it would drown out the voice. It whispered about the Vikings, and they all seemed to be either making out or killing each other.

 _Am I a Viking?_

He kept walking, stopping long enough to do a bad moonwalk imitation, spinning around at the last moment, tipping an invisible hat in a really bad rendition of Michael Jackson's _Billy Jean_. He could hear the music in his head; he remembered learning how to moonwalk just to see if he could do it. He'd also practiced Thriller dance moves when no one was around. It was strange what popped into your mind when you're alone for a long time. Sean felt like he'd been on this road forever. Even random dance moves and martial arts practice was losing its appeal here in the land of perpetual boredom.

 _I might be a Viking - a sludge Viking._

Another voice spoke into his dream; it sounded like someone was speaking beyond the blue sky and fluffy clouds. Sean stopped looking up; the sky was lighter than before, blue being canceled by something bright behind it. The voices were louder than before. It was a man's voice. Maybe, he was the leader of the Vikings; he might be the one who made out with everybody. _Make love not war._ Now where did that come from?

Thriller music again. _Darkness falls across the land_ — Vincent Price. I'm Lucky? That man's voice was strong, and as familiar as that of the sad female. He concentrated on those voices; there was comfort and protection there. He just didn't know how to reach them.

 _Whoever heard of a Viking named Lucky._

Sean glanced over his shoulder, noting that the darkness snaked along now, its tendrils of blackness reaching out in front of the main dimness; with each tendril, it came closer than he wanted. He quickened his pace, adding space between himself and the gloom. It wasn't that he was afraid of the gloom, not exactly. It was more that it evoked a vague feeling of unease, sort of a warning that happens right before something horrible happens. The darkness, the gloaming — it had a name. He reached for the memory; its name was — Nils, no, Nails, no Neils. Nails snaked towards him, malevolent, vile.

The road — endless, tedious, tiring — it rolled out before him like a ribbon. _I wish there was a door I could step through into the world where those voices live._ In the distance, he saw one, a door — a destination materializing out of nothingness. _Could it be that easy?_

 _You can wake up if you want to, or I can keep telling you about Vikings in love._ There it was again, a whispering that was a melodious mixture of laughter and song, a voice he loved to listen to, a voice that sang of his homeland. He was a Viking, and the world was his to plunder. He would travel the oceans pillaging as he went; no one was stronger than he, no woman able to resist his charms.

If he looked in a mirror, he would see a warrior — large, barrel chest, longish blond hair that blew in the wind, a square jaw and proud disposition. His mere presence made woman swoon, and he would pick out one wench, maybe two who captured his fancy to keep him warm through the night.

 _Oh, who are you kidding._

That was the story lyrical girl was singing to him, and if it wasn't so damned compelling he would laugh at the stupidity of that reality. Anything that melodious, sweet voice told him, he believed. He knew that the person who's voice it embodied was a beautiful, exotic woman — not from the North like he was, but from the islands, a displaced island princess who's beauty defied description.

A smile from her made lesser men weak in the knees; but he was a Viking, stalwart and true. Her words, her tone and her indescribable beauty was breathtaking, but his knees never buckled. He could lift her off the ground in a one-armed, sweeping motion, pulling her close so that their lips brushed lightly. Of course, she was scantily clad, as was he, and his sheer physicality took her breath away as it should be.

Sean continued trudging towards the door on the road. He no longer cared where it came from, ignoring the illogic of the impossibility of doors appearing out of nothingness. He simply wanted to reach it, and open to see what was on the other side. The other two voices were talking again, and he turned his head slightly to hear what they were saying. His beautiful, island princess had fallen silent again, and while he was disappointed, it allowed him to concentrate on the voices behind the sky on his left.

 _I think he can hear us_ , the sad, female voice whispered. _He turned toward me slightly._

The male voice, also close spoke with someone he couldn't hear, but he sensed the closeness of the female. _I don't want to leave him alone. I don't want him to wake up and I'm not here._

 _Am I asleep?_ He felt, rather than saw the darkness behind him. Turning, he saw it was much closer. _How had that happened?_ It had a sound that he could hear now, a soft swishing, squishy noise that felt like sinking in quicksand; he didn't know how he knew that. It had a smell, vile, acrid, sort of like a house with 20 cats and one litter pan that hadn't been changed in weeks. And, as it reached out towards him, one tendril brushed his arm. It had a feel — slimy, like holding vomit in your hand. Somewhere in all of the vileness, terror resided. It was visceral.

 _If you let this night overtake you, you will never see home again._ Sean ran ahead on the road then, towards the door which seemed to be floating in midair, not really connected to the scene but still a part of it.

"I will protect you," the female voice whispered. Her voice made him feel good — warm and protected, and he would have stopped and let it wash over him, but the blackness pursued him.

"That is not nightfall," he said.

"Sean, I will protect you," she said. He wanted to believe her; he really did. But that obsidian nightmare had touched him, and now he was really frightened. Being that scared made him snarky, and he didn't have time to be snarky.

"Can you stop the dark," he said instead. He didn't like the pleading sound of his voice. It was definitely not Viking-like.

"I will protect you," the male voice echoed. The words made Sean feel good in spite of his mounting fear, and he wasn't sure why. He had been on his own all his life; no one had ever said they would protect him. Sean was good at protecting himself, but he still liked their promise. Someone to hide behind, someone who had your back. Not since his brother's death had he felt like anybody had his back. _That had been so long ago, hadn't it? I had a brother? Yes, Michael. Micheal is dead, and you will be too if you let that darkness overtake you._

"Go through the door; we are waiting for you on the other side," the voices said. "The door will protect you."

"There's a lot of protection being promised," he mumbled as he ran, "I hope you guys know what the hell you're talking about." He was in good shape, but of late, he seemed to have grown limbs of lead, feet of clay or some other stupid metaphor that equaled heaviness and weakness in the face of reality.

 _But was this reality? How long have I been on this road? And where are the people?_ There's nothing here but whispers and promises, but nothing material save that black ooze that was chasing him him. He grew more sure as he glanced back over his shoulder, that the gloom spreading behind him meant him no good. _Perhaps its simply my human tendency to fear the darkness_ , his sensible side intoned.

 _The monster does live under the bed._

 _What are you? Five?_ Sean admonished himself glancing over his shoulder again but inspire of logic and bravado, he continued to run. He felt scared now, no terrified would be a more adequate assessment. The road where the darkness had been seemed devoid of everything: it was like a black hole where the opposite of light and life — darkness and death — resided. There was no scientific basis for his feelings, but he ran nonetheless, a bit faster than an easy jog, but less than a frantic, oh my God, I'm gonna die run.

It was strange; the closer he got to that door, the clearer things seemed. Now, he was no longer hot and his legs were getting lighter with each stride. With all the effort he was expending, he thought he should be drenched with sweat by now, and his previous leaden legs should have given out. He wasn't. He should be winded, even though he was in good shape. He wasn't. His legs should be jelly by now, no matter how much exercise he'd engaged in prior to starting this run. He wasn't.

In fact, he noticed that as endless as the road seemed, that door seemed to emanate energy, strength. The closer he came, the more he seemed to be able to traverse the road like a rockstar — running ahead gracefully and with style.

Maybe, this was a movie — a bad Viking film that didn't want to end. _Vikings don't run down roads, though._ He wished he was able to go out and get popcorn, maybe, a drink and some chocolate covered raisins. He loved them, that and Skittles. He could consume both candies non-stop with little effect.

"My pain threshold might have its limits, but my candy tolerance knows no bounds."

 _Vikings don't run down roads._

Sean remained aware that he was talking to himself, but he also reasoned that he was probably crazy altogether, because usually out of that nothingness and aloneness would always come an answer. Most times whispered, sometimes shouted — there was a consciousness on the other side of the ethers. Either that, or he was schizophrenic. Somehow, either prospect didn't seem to matter much right now.

"I'll have some Skittles when you wake up, Seanie," the female voice whispered. "Just come on and wakeup sweetie, okay?"

"Wake up?"

 _Am I asleep?_ Sean had forgotten that thought until now. _Maybe, this endless road was a dream. Maybe, the evil dark following me is all in my head._ _But, how can I determine if its a dream? Maybe, if I can open my eyes, there might be something out there besides sky. My eyes are already open, aren't they?_

A whispery apparition floated in front of him, much like the circles people make with cigarette smoke. It hung there momentarily and then disappeared.

 _If this is a dream then I can have women fawning all over me, beautiful lashes fluttering, perfect lipstick smiles waiting to be kissed. If this is a dream, I should be strong, powerful and gorgeous and all the women, but most especially my Jamaican princess should not be able to resist me._ _What is a Jamaican? Oh yeah, the woman I want to marry one day. Wait, what?_

Sean concentrated on the brown beauty in his head, willing her to come to him, squeezing his eyes shut with the effort. He opened one eye and peaked up the road, and to his amazement, there she stood — smiling, arms open, lips pouty with lip gloss. Every woman should wear lip gloss; it just made the lips all that much better to look at. He looked down at his body; he had the body of a man whose name he couldn't remember, a man who was strong, ripped and gorgeous. He grinned bouncing up and down on his feet, the dark temporarily receding in intensity in his mind. Did he control the dark?

 _Who cares. This is a great dream._ Why hadn't he thought of that before. He could've had so much more fun if he did. He looked back at the darkness, his smile fading. It hadn't slowed down; in fact, it appeared to be speeding up, closing the distance between them. He looked back at his Jamaican princess; she beckoned for him to come closer.

Before going to her, he closed his eyes and willed the darkness to stop. He took a deep breath, held it and said: "This is my dream, and you, oh evil darkness, will slow down and stop. You are frozen in space and time; you can't move any closer to me." Sean took a deep breath and opened his eyes; the darkness continued to slither in his direction. _So much for that idea._

At first Sean thought he would try it again, maybe this time with incantations but dashed that idea upon inception. The only incantations he knew were from reruns of Charmed and from reading the Harry Potter series. Both were ridiculous, and he doubted it would do much to stop the evil dark. He looked back towards his princess; her waving had grown frantic. She seemed to be shouting, but her voice was muted.

He ran towards her at the last, making up his mind as he closed the distance between them. Maybe, she could tell him what was going on; at the very least, he could dazzle her with his newly acquired good looks. When he was standing in front of her, he heard her giggle and looked at her questioningly. "What?"

"Why did you make yourself look like Captain Chandler?" Sean was taken aback; Captain Chandler? _Was he a Viking, too?_

She seemed to hear his question. "No, he's in the Navy, like you." Her smile was brilliant, her skin smooth and soft. He could easily get lost in that sweet, brown gaze. She should like this new, improved body he had. Navy? Memories of the Nathan James began to fill in the blank areas in his memory. He suddenly remembered Captain Chandler and the female voice, that was his mother.

She looked past him at the dark slither coming towards them.

"It works for Captain Chandler, but I like you the way you are. We have to get moving if we don't want to be caught by death." His improved body began to dissolve at her words. Sean watched with growing consternation as his body coalesced into a female brunette wearing jeans, boots and a really pretty blue blouse. His princess was laughing again. "Nope, not you yet." Sean looked down at his body and back up at her confused. "Doctor Rachel Scott," she clarified for him. "You are not her, either."

Crap. She was pulling his arm, then stopped, again laughing.

"Commander Garnett? Oh, come on. If you become Commander Slattery, I'm going to hit you."

Sean grinned. He remembered himself in an ah-ha moment of clarity. He concentrated on the picture that popped into his mind and shifted again. _A neat trick when you got the hang of it._ As he had shifted through people, his memories of them returned, and suddenly, he missed them all . . . Intensely.

Of course, he had to wake up for his princess…Beatrice. _I'm going to marry you one da_ y, but he also had to wake up to see the others. They had been waiting, talking to him and waiting some more.

Up until this moment, his motivation had only been to walk down the road and stay ahead of the dark. But now, his motivation seemed to be more than just maintaining distance.

"Let's go through the door," he said. Beatrice looked up at him and smiled.

"It's about time," she said. "We have all be waiting for you to go through that door. We knew you'd find it if you got enough rest and the dark didn't overtake you."

"Neils," he said, looking back over his shoulder again. The dark seemed perilously close now. Sean put his arm around his princess, pulling her close and walking faster. "That's the dark's name."

The door was close, bright and sparkly in front of him. How had he traversed the distance so quickly? It had taken him days to get to the point where he saw his princess, and in 10 seconds flat, the door which seemed to be at least a mile distant was now right in front of him. It lent to his growing feeling that he had been unconscious, and that this was not a variation of hell, but a consciousness that existed when your body couldn't wake up. He needed more clarification before stepping through the door.

"Am I a Viking?" Sean heard her laughter as they stepped through the door together.

—

"A Viking?" Beatrice laughed. "You're not a Viking. I was reading you my Viking love story."

Sean wrinkled up his nose. He had a crush on Beatrice, but he didn't have one on her reading matter. "God, that was weird."

"What?" Beatrice was very close to him.

"I was in a place, on a road," his voice was raspy, barely a whisper. It felt like sawdust had moved in and taken up residence. He coughed hoping it would clear. It didn't. He whispered again. "We beat the dark." He closed his eyes.

He opened his eyes again, just a slit. He had more energy on the road. Beatrice's smiling visage swam into focus. "Welcome back. I have to tell everyone you woke up."

"Wait," he whispered. "Do you have lip gloss?"

"What?"

"Never mind, must be a hold over from that road."

"Road, what road?"

"We were on a road together."

"You and me?"

"And Neils." At the mention of his name, Beatrice's smile faded.

"Why did you bring him up?"

"He was "the dark". He was death, I think," Sean closed his eyes again. He felt like hell, but he was awake, beyond the blue skies and fluffy clouds, back to the gun metal gray of the infirmary. How had he gotten there?

Doctor Rios appeared next to his bed. "I sent for Captain Chandler and Doctor Scott."

"They were the voices beyond the sky," he mumbled. Rios looked a bit puzzled.

"They been here almost non-stop." Rios continued after a pause. "You've been pretty sick"

"What happened?" Sean whispered.

Rios started to respond, but the outer doors opened and he heard familiar steps. Her vanilla perfume reached him before he saw her, so when she swam into his view, he was already smiling, although the effort was taxing. He wanted to go back to sleep, but he was afraid he'd get stuck on that road again.

"Look who's finally decided to wake up." That was Captain Chandler, and as he came into view, Sean could see his broad smile. _He is that happy I've come to? I guess what Rachel said was true; he is in my corner. Will wonders never cease._

Sean closed his eyes briefly, but felt her hand shaking him. He opened his eyes staring at her. "You better not go back to sleep, Mister. I've been hanging around the infirmary waiting for you to wake up for days."

"Days? I've been on that road with the Vikings for days and days. I couldn't find the door," he whispered. All present started laughing.

"On a road with Vikings?" Tom asked, still chuckling.

"I was reading my novel to him. I didn't realize he was listening." Beatrice giggled.

"I see," Tom said. "Well, we've got a new nickname for you. Lucky."

"Oh God," Sean sighed.

"Everyone has been pulling for you," Rachel said, squeezing his hand. "It was touch and go there for a while, but Captain Chandler said you were "Lucky"; hence, your new nickname."

Sean closed his eyes again groaning. "Great. First I'm a batch of pancakes; now, I'm a set of dice."

"That's the first joke I've heard from you," Tom laughed, and Sean just looked at him.

Commander Garnett popped her head in the room. "I heard that Lucky was awake?" She was all smiles, with Bacon following on her heels. The infirmary was rapidly filling up, and Doctor Rios took to shooing people out of the infirmary. Sean had a feeling that more than Captain Chandler and Rachel knew about his plight, and decided to close his eyes against the din.

He heard Rachel whisper, "Too late, Sean. You are now a member of the Nathan James family, so you might as well get used to the attention."

"I'm going back to the road," he groaned in response, but he also smiled despite his pained outburst. "What did you tell them."

"I didn't, but I think Tex spread the word."

Sean didn't respond; he was tired and he was, after such a long time of feeling utterly alone, happy and a part of something.

Rachel slept longer than she wanted, but she couldn't get by her protector to get back to the lab. He didn't tie her to her bed exactly, but every time she opened her eyes, he was sitting on his side of her twin bed tapping on his computer. In order for her to get out to go to the lab, she'd have to climb over him, his papers, laptop and his decided persuasive charm to keep her sleeping.

On her desk in the front of the stateroom, was a desk, where all of her research was stacked, the parts she'd brought back from the lab, and on one edge, more of his stuff. He sat there when Slattery or Jetter came to talk. It was his official office for the duration of her rest period. When they were alone, he sat on the bed and typed on his computer. It was an unsaid wall that kept her in the bed; when she got antsy, he kissed her, cuddled with her and caressed her into acquiescence. It galled her on one level, but she was still easily fatigued.

"What about Neils?" she asked one afternoon, "is he tired of being locked up."

"I don't care," Tom smiled down at her. "He's in that room until you choose to work with him again, if ever." It was an unspoken paradigm shift. Tom was no longer insisting that she work with him. Another shift; the crew, at least the senior crew, had figured out they were together. That bit of news was delivered by a laughing Commander Slattery.

"You two have been dancing around each other while we've pretended not to notice. Glad we don't have to worry about doing that anymore."

Rachel had overhead the conversation between Tom and his first officer when they thought she was asleep.

"Glad you two found love. Not much room for that since the apocalypse, and lord knows, that woman of yours needs an anchor before she spins off and works herself to death."

The warmth conveyed by Slattery warmed her insides. She remembered not so long ago when his look was all glare and little mercy. My how times have changed, times and people. Her mind drifted to Sean, still in the infirmary. He wasn't exactly basking in his new found attention, but he was more relaxed than she'd ever seen him. Each visit showed him coming to terms with his new status, and more importantly, that he wasn't going to get crapped on by life again.

Tom had delivered books to Sean, gotten naval academy texts from the two ensigns who were happy to have another book nerd in their midst. They had voluntarily moved his stuff in, and Ensign Barnes had even given him his bottom bunk. Even though no one said it, both ensigns had apparently heard that Sean was the Captain's friend. It didn't hurt that Sean was possessed of an affable disposition, but having an in with the captain was also nice.

"Why does everybody think it's okay to fluff my hair," Sean groaned during one of her visits. "It's stupid." Rachel had ignored the comment instead handing him a glass of juice. "You're not listening to me."

"No, you're being silly." She watched him take another sip. This time last week, he had been so close to death that she wanted to die inside. Now he was complaining, petulant, irritable. She almost laughed although she knew that would make things worse. He had cabin fever; she knew the feeling. "You have to be patient. You'll be out of here in the next couple days, and then you won't be such a grumpy kitty."

"I guess I'll read some more," Sean said finally, opening another of the Captain's books.

"How many does that make?"

"Six, but I'm skimming to get a 39,000 foot overview."

Rachel laughed, "50000 foot."

"Mine is 39."

"Grumpy."

"You should know. The captain delivers and picks you up from here, so I don't think you're working overtime either."

Rachel smiled, "Not working hardly at all right now, smart ass."

"Grumpy kitty," he laughed when she threw towel she as holding over his head.

Stretching out to her full height in the bed Rachel was thinking more about how much had changed since the poisoning. She and the captain had grown much closer if that was possible. Their relationship was becoming known in the upper echelons of command. Tom wasn't sweeping her off her feet, giving her fiery kisses on the Bridge, but they were getting their share of alone time without any questions or puzzled looks. Tom's relationship with Sean had also blossomed much to the consternation of Sean, because Tom's full speed ahead approach left Sean little time to panic. Even in the infirmary, Tom had talked with him about a program for him to follow, things to study, assignments and the like.

Sean had also told her that Tom intended to drill him on his studies, a point that frightened him but not to the point of panic. Rachel smiled realizing that Sean was gaining confidence. It had not been so long ago when Sean would be hard pressed to stand in the same room with Tom. Now, he was disturbed, challenged but not terrorized. Rachel realized that Tom was getting a kick out of it, too. His own son, Sam was still too young to mentor into college. At eight, he was still trying to find his footing. Rachel realized that Tom's way with young people made him an excellent father to many; it was what made him such an excellent and beloved commanding officer.

Now that the age issue had been resolved, Tom seemed to be taking Sean at his word that he wanted to uplift himself, go to the Naval Academy and become an officer.

Rachel walked in on Tom and Sean, "Midshipman, what is the length of the Nathan James?"

Sean stared at him blankly for a moment, then almost smiled but squelched it. Although Tom's gaze was friendly, he hand a tone that screamed "be serious about this."

"505 to 509 feet, sir."

"Displacement?

Sean paused, closing his eyes. He looked like he was reading a book with his eyes closed. "8,315 to 9,200 tons."

Rachel cleared her throat, and Tom looked in her direction. "Very good, Midshipman. You have been reading and not just laying around as you recover."

"Here's one to think about. What are some of the traditions of the Navy, and what makes them so important?"

"I, uh," Sean trailed off looking thoughtful.

"Not all things are recitations of facts and figures. Anybody can do that. What makes you Navy is the ability to know why you're doing something, not just how to mechanically do it."

Sean shook his head slowly, as Rachel cleared her throat again. She realized that her wanna-be submariner had not only a friend but a tough mentor. Tom had taken him on as a cause. With him protecting Sean, she saw more confidence from him than any amount of talking on her part. She wondered if he'd become cocky.

On her last visit to the infirmary, she had passed Commander Slattery, who Sean had said was going to teach him some bench press and boxing moves. Sean looked a bit dumbfounded when he said it, and she had to suppress her amusement at this turn of events.

Sean was still in the infirmary, officially on bedrest for his body to recover; Tom saw no need to let him waste recuperation time without doing some thing with his mind. So, on the second morning, he'd arrived with a couple of his books. Sean had been playing Solitaire, flipping the cards absentmindedly over and over.

When Tom had sat the book in the middle of his game, he looked up smiling. His relief was short lived, because Tom told him he'd be asking questions from it. Rachel had chuckled when she'd heard a soft groan, but he started reading and over the past two days, she'd come in to find the Captain, and alternate command staff asking him questions from the book. Sean would never admit it, but she knew he was loving the challenge if not the attention.

Tom turned towards her smiling. "I believe Lucky is feeling a lot better." She heard a soft sigh from Sean's area, and laughed. "You like that nickname, Sean."

"Better than I liked Short Stack."

"Slattery wants to call you Lucky Flapjacks," Tom teased him and was rewarded with a blush spreading across his face.

"Oh God," he whispered, but Rachel got the distinct feeling he was laughing under that pained expression.

"I convinced him that Lucky was a good name; now you're telling me you don't like it?" Tom raised his eyebrows, a half smile gracing his lips. "Flapjacks it is, then."

"No," Sean said his tone pleading for mercy. "I love the name, Lucky, really I do."

"Okay then," Tom tousled his hair. "Lucky it is."

Another groan. Rachel knew Sean hated having his hair tousled which caused her to laugh out loud. "He's just messing' with you, Sean. We're just so glad to have you back."

Sean looked serious for a moment, then gave a small smile. "It's okay. I'm getting used to it."

In the darkness, she could see his eyes, hear his whiny, nasal voice and that slight smile that told her he was responsible for Sean's brush with death not to mention her own. Through the haze and fogginess that separated her from her lab was a plastic screen and his face. The smile spoke volumes to her, mostly he knew why Sean had nearly died.

She awoke shivering. "It's okay, baby," Tom was in the bed with her, and he pulled her closer, eyes still closed. He had been sleeping in her quarters every night since the incident. She had a nightmare every night, and it was always the same. Those dead shark eyes, slight smile and Sean collapsing. Each time she awoke, Tom was there, wrapped around her with her blanket. Each time he told everything would be okay.

They searched Neil's stateroom, finding nothing. He knew that Neils was smart, too smart to get caught with the evidence of his guilt on him. She had traced his steps in her mind, and each night she thought about where he could hide arsenic, where was the rat poison. He was on lockdown since the incident, and Chandler seemed immune to his plaintive pleas to be let out.

She'd overheard Tom talking to him two days ago via intercom, "I can't prove you poisoned Dr. Scott and Seaman Dorsan, but I have a strong feeling you were involved. And, until I get to the bottom of this, you are confined to quarters."

"You mean I can't work with Doctor Scott?" Neils was near screeching. Nails on a chalkboard-like.

"No," Tom's voice was dead calm; he didn't react to the screeching from the other end of the intercom.

"This is so unfair. I shouldn't be punished because she had an accident, and that dimwit assistant doesn't know which end is up."

Tom's voice remained steady. "You will be on lockdown until further notice."

"This is so unfair," Neils screamed through the intercom system. "I can make a valuable contribution even if Doctor Scott isn't there."

"That's not going to happen, Sorenson. Nobody goes into Doctor Scott's lab unless she's there."

"Well, Jarhead, what do you think I'm going to do? Ruin her experiments; mess up her cure. Make a phenomenal breakthrough without her so she can't claim the credit?"

"Jarheads are not the Navy. And to be frank, I don't know what you'd do on your own, and I am not taking that chance. I have other things to do, and I believe we have communicated enough." Tom hit the disconnect button, before Neils could respond, then he turned the intercom system to silent as another bell ringing ensued indicating that Neils was calling back.

Rachel padded across the floor wearing socks; wrapping her arms around him, she planted a light kiss on his cheek. "Thank you for believing me," she whispered.

"Of course I believe you," he said pulling her onto his lap, kissing her lips lightly. "We have no proof, but we'll figure it out eventually. Slattery is a real sleuth when it comes to crime. I've told him on a couple occasions he should be a private detective. I told him about your suspicions, and he's looking into it."

Rachel hugged Tom close at those words; they were a comfort and backup. Sean wasn't the only one who was grateful for his faith. They had come so far together, both in terms of the cure and on a personal level. She closed her eyes listening to him humming a soft tune to himself.

"I didn't know you sang," she said finally, still leaning against him. He was typing with one hand, holding her with the other.

"I don't sing," he replied softly, stopping momentarily to kiss her again, "I hum. I have no luck with lyrics." She leaned against him again, feeling safe, secure . . . Loved listening to the nameless tune he was humming. "Helps me think, too."

It was almost a week since the incident that had almost ended her life, her love and that of a young seaman whose only crime was to be attached to her. In that time, she'd thought many times, it was the end. But it wasn't, and her she sat on her life partner's lap, listening to him hum a tune that made her feelings rise to the surface. It was a just right afternoon. Everyone was on the mend, and Sean, who had been given little to no chance of survival, had woken up and was now on a path to Navy success.

What more could a woman hope for.


	21. Chapter 21 - Epilogue

Neils Sorenson lay spread eagle in the middle of the lab floor, his supine form surrounded by fallen instruments and test tubes. Three rats circled him, but he didn't respond. His eyes were wide open, his mouth slack and blood ran from his mouth, nose, ears and eyes. He hadn't been dead for that long; his body was still warm. That was the assessment of Commander Slattery and Chief Jeter.

"He's just started to stiffen," Slattery observed. "Guess he pissed off one to many people." In spite of the obvious evacuation of his offices, that wasn't what killed him.

"Somebody hit him in the head in the back of the head. Imagine that." Slattery looked around amidst the debris surrounding the doctor. "I don't see the murder weapon."

"What do you think it was?" Jeter asked.

"Not sure, but a wound that small, it could be something like a hammer or a small club."

"Well, it couldn't have happened to a nicer guy."

Slattery looked a bit surprised. "Never thought you'd say that, Russ."

"Sorry, sir. I just speak the truth."

"Well, now we've got a murderer onboard. Just what we need in the middle of an apocalypse."

Jeter huffed, "Yeah, really."

Book 2 is coming soon.


End file.
